


We Walk Between The Worlds

by YanzaDracan



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band), Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banishment, BigBigBang, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cultural References, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical References, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Native American Character(s), Relationship(s), Slash, Spirit Animals, Spiritual, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanzaDracan/pseuds/YanzaDracan
Summary: When highwaymen leave a young woman pregnant and widowed, she stumbles onto a band of Cherokee. Adopted into the tribe and married to one of their healers, she begins a new life. Life is good for the family until the passing of the Indian Removal Act and The Trail Where We Cried.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** With the exception of the work noted as being originally mine, all works of fiction and characters thereof belong to their original creators/studios/producers/publishers. No money is being earned, and they are used without permission. In the case of RPS, the people being used as characters belong to themselves. I do not know them. Everything I've written is complete fiction. Any goofs, gaffs, bending of facts, or mistakes are mine.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Thank you Tiggeratl1 for providing beautiful art for my story. It's the cherry on top of my sundae. Written for the BigBig Bang 2011.

 

Donna Shaffer stood in front of her father’s desk, eyes wide with disbelief. Since her mother’s death, first her grandmother, then Donna ran her father’s household and acted as his hostess. Now the old man was implying that she would be required to provide more than just the usual genteel Southern hospitality to several of the business men her father invited home.

“But Alan …” She started but was cut off.

“Everyone knows the man’s light in his Hessians, and courts you to keep up appearances. Even if he does marry you, he’ll never know you’re no longer a maid. This business deal is very important, Girl, so you’ll do as you’re told.”

Shocked to her core, she backed down from her father’s anger.

“Of course, Father.”

_~@~@~@~_

Terrorized to the point of numbness, Donna lay perfectly still hoping the drunken man lying next to her had truly passed into his cups.

Though her body was virginal, she was not naïve. Her governess and lady’s maid had both educated her on the ways of men and women just as her best friend, Alan, had educated her in the ways of men with men. The pain and fear she had experienced in the past two hours in no way resembled anything she had been taught.

That the actions of the male guests had been at the behest of her own father to further his fortune added mental torment to the physical abuse suffered at hands of men considered the epitome of southern honor and gentility froze her heart in her chest, as her mind coldly wondered how much her virginity had been worth.

Gathering her emotions … The betrayal, terror, shock, and locking those gibbering pieces of her psyche into an iron box inside her mind, Donna rolled from the bed and gathering her torn and bloody dress around her body left the guest room where she’d been dragged as she’d walked down the hall intent on retiring to her room.

_~@~@~@~_

Not by word or deed did Donna give indication that anything untoward had happened under her father’s roof. She knew her father would extract a heavy price from her if his actions became known. If the servants thought her aloof, they put it down to the stress of playing hostess to so many of Atlanta’s elite.

When the door closed behind the last guest, her father took himself off to his club. He would no doubt be gloating over the substantial business relationships he’d cemented during the first of many house parties held when the plantation owners moved back to their city homes for the winter season.

The house was quiet, so Donna began her search. Directing the staff to a thorough airing and cleaning of the house now that their guests had departed gave her the opportunity to search all the places her father secreted money. She had developed a morbid curiosity over the price of her virtue.

Airing the library of the stench of cigars while working on her household accounts, Donna found her answer. Seeing her father’s strong box under her ledgers, Donna looked up to assure herself the servants were working upstairs. No one would disturb her until Letty came with a lunch tray. She checked clock on the fireplace mantle. Plenty of time.

Her hairpin made short work of the lock. Hiding the documents in her ledger Donna began to read. She had to stop several times to quash her gibbering emotions back in their box, but by the time she read the three contracts and counted the cash her rage burned so hot she feared she herself would combust.

Putting everything back in the strongbox, she poured herself three fingers of whiskey before wandering outside the library doors. She watched the carriage horses peacefully swishing flies as they dozed in the morning sun. The fire of the whiskey slowly banked the fire of her rage. By the time the glass was empty, and she could hear Letty calling her name, Donna had a plan.

_~@~@~@~_

Her plan was coming to fruition when she discovered she was pregnant. Her first thought was to get rid of it. She knew which herbs would flush the babe from her body. That the thing growing in her body had been planted in the most heinous manner possible had her sitting at her dressing table staring into the herbal mixture that would solve part of her problems.

As she stared into the liquid, the face of a beautiful green eyed angel appeared. She set the glass down with a thump. Her grandmother had been a midwife and a root worker, the whispers around town said she had the ‘sight’. As Donna continued to stare at the glass she wondered if she too might have a little of the talent or if it was simply her conscious pricking her for wanting to harm the unborn child.

With time no longer on her side, she pushed up her schedule. Not wanting to travel in the winter months, she’d planned to make her escape in the spring, but now she wanted to be out of the house and Atlanta before anyone realized she was pregnant.

Money and jewelry sown into the hem of her cloaks and dresses, Donna met her best friend and soon to be husband outside the city limits. First chance they got after crossing the Fulton County line they were duly married. Going to the nearest coach station, they headed north to Chattanooga. They only stayed in one place a week or two before moving on. Alan changed his last name from Eccles to Ackles to throw off anyone who might be searching for them.

_~@~@~@~_

The War of 1812 has seen the development of many roads through the wilderness to facilitate the movement of soldiers and supplies.  Since the war’s end many of the roads were being put to use by stage coaches transferring mail and people from town to town. It was by this lowly form of transportation that Donna and Alan Ackles chose to travel.

Donna had only begun to show signs of her pregnancy when they decided to travel from Nashville to New Orleans. Thanksgiving had just passed when they decided New Orleans would be a good place to raise a child with pursuits suited to both their needs.

_~@~@~@~_

Hands crossed over her expanding waistline, Donna let the rocking motion of the coach lull her troubled mind. She dozed lightly leaning against Alan’s side. If not for the weight gain and some lower back pain she would have never have believed she carried a child in her womb. It was as though the little one was aware of the trauma of his conception and was trying not to give his mother any trouble.

Donna was thrown out her doze when the coach lurched violently. The passengers were thrown against the sides of the coach as the driver fought to bring the horses to a stop.

Everyone stumbled down from the coach, the men joining the driver as the shotgun rider kept watch while they examined the damage.

The axle wasn’t broken all the way through, but it would have to be repaired before they could continue. After nearly an hour and a half they had fashioned repairs that would hold until they got to the next stage stop where they would not only change horses, but also change coaches.

They were just about to climb back in the coach when the men came out of the trees. The shotgun rider and the others who were armed did their best to defend against the highway men, but when the smoke cleared, the men lay dead or wounded allowing the thieves to rummage through their pockets, luggage, and unhook the horses.

The other two women clung to Donna as shock kept them quiet. When the men had searched everything, they turned their attention to the women. Seeing they were plainly dressed in serviceable clothing and not in the impractical fashions of high society they mounted their horses, the leader clouting one of the younger men across the back of the head when he complained about leaving them.

When they could no long hear the sound of horses, the women began to check the men and gather their belongings. Donna wanted to cry for Alan, but she had nothing left to give him. She sorted through their luggage, got everything down to two manageable valises, thanked her lucky stars they hadn’t checked the lining of her cloak or her corsets.

“Where are you going?” One of the women asked.

“It’s midday. I’m heading back to the last town. We aren’t that far away.”

“But shouldn’t we stay here. They’ll send someone when we don’t show up at the next stop.”

“You can if you want. I refuse to sit and wait to see if that little beady-eyed man comes back looking for more than money.”

She settled her bags and continued to walk.

_~@~@~@~_

Dark came early to the tree lined road. She was exhausted and foot sore, and as the sky darkened she had to fight her rising fear. Several times she had moved off the road when she heard the sounds of horses, not wanting to take the risk it was the same men who had robbed the stage and killed Alan. Finally, she could go no further. After stumbling several times over stones in the road, fear of falling and injuring her unborn child had Donna looking around for somewhere she could huddle down while she hoped the night did not become too bitterly cold.

Moving into the trees, Donna noticed the flickering of firelight. Terrified that she was about to make her situation worse, but realizing she needed help, she moved closer. The closer she got the more the light beckoned her weary brain. She was almost to the edge of the light when her brain finally registered what her eyes were seeing.

**_*Indians. Oh my God! Indians!*_ **

Then she noticed the women and children. She stood in the shadows fighting between her fear and her need. The fluttering of movement as the baby quickened made her decision. She would never make it back to town if she didn’t have help, so once again Donna gathered her fear and shoved it into the iron box with the night of her rape and stepped into the light of the campfire.

_~@~@~@~_

Donna, Bends Like The Willow, Ackles smiled serenely as she watched her son, Jensen Crow Fox Ackles, take the time from his lessons with his father to show his little brother the proper way to spear fish from the creek.

The night she’d stumbled into camp after Alan had been killed, she’d found not only a refuge for the night, but a new home as well. She had been adopted into the Long Hair clan of a nearby Tsalagi village, and the spring her son turned one year old, she married a prominent member of the Paint clan, Red Clay Bear. By the time Crow Fox was eight years old, Bends Like The Willow had borne Red Clay Bear a son and a daughter.

On the eve of the his 14th summer, Red Clay Bear took Crow Fox into the woods, sat the boy on a stump, blindfolded him and bade him sit until he felt the sunrise touch his face.

Nervous, Crow Fox did as he was told. The sounds of the forest soon filled his ears. Unable to see, his mind conjured all forms of danger. Muscles quivering, his mind fought his body’s desire to run from the unseen enemies. His stubborn will finally prevailed as he quieted his mind and breathing. Remembering some of his father’s stories about the sacredness and healing properties of his breath, Crow Fox allowed his mind to sink into the rhythm of his breathing.

Images soon assaulted the peace he’d found. His family and friends thin, sick, and dying in a strange land surrounded by white strangers dressed in blue. He saw himself dressed as both a man and woman. Standing in the background dressed in buckskins was a man with long yellow hair tears raining from blue eyes as he reached toward Crow Fox and a handsome brave with long hair adorned with eagle feathers and eyes the color of the sky.

As the stranger’s pale hand was about to touch his arm, the sun warmed Crow Fox’s face. He touched his face feeling tears from under his blindfold. Pulling the cloth from his eyes, the first thing he saw was Red Clay Bear.

“Father.” He said simply, a hitch in his voice.

Wrapping a large hand around his son’s neck, he pulled the boy, now an adult, against his side while he tucked his bear skin robe around the chilled body.

“What have seen, my son?” The healer asked.

“So much misery and death.” Crow Fox whispered. “We are in a place I have never seen during Cold Moon. We are starving, sick and dying.” His brow creased as he paused, reluctant to tell his father about the yellow and dark haired strangers.

He knew how the tribe dealt with those who would love their own gender. They were shunned … Sent to live at the outer edges of the village … Forced to survive without the support of family and friends. If he were to tell his father his heart was two-spirit, he too would be forced from the tribe.

He knew his mother’s story, knew he was the child of heinous actions. Though he was conceived during the most foul of acts, she always loved him, and when he was small she had called him her green-eyed angel. He would not cause her a moment’s heartache by forcing a man who gave her love and helped heal the scars of the past to banish him from the tribe.

“Come. We will put your mother’s fears to rest and after a hot meal we will go to the elders with your new status as an adult and relay what the spirits have given us.” Red Clay Bear kept his arm around Crow Fox as they headed back to the village.

That same night the Long Hair arbor was awakened by the distressed cries of Crow Fox as he was caught in the claws of a powerful nightmare. His parents tried repeatedly to wake the boy to no avail. He finally awakened with a shout and flung himself into his mother’s arms. When the tears and shaking stop, and he calmed himself, he refused to speak about his nightmare, wanting to talk with the Elders first.

After the morning meal, everyone was called to the Town House where they learned of Crow Fox’s vision. While the elders discussed the vision and what it could mean; Crow Fox let his mind drift to the men in his vision. He knows they are not from any of the settlements or villages in the area. He can only imagine that they have something to with the awful things he saw in his dreams.

The spirits and the Ancestors had always walked closely with Crow Fox. It is the reason he was learning the lessons of the Paint clan. He had heard his father express his wish for Crow Fox to find a wife from the Blue clan that he may also learn the children’s medicine, but Crow Fox knows there will be no wife in his future. After last night, he is sure there is very little future left for any of them here. Quashing the hurt in his heart, he went in search of his grandfather.

Crow Fox?” The elder medicine man approached the boy. Moss green eyes looked up. “What troubles you?”

“I wished to speak with father about some other things from my vision, but the Council has become upset over the little I have told them.”

“Come and sit with this old man and tell me your dreams, grandson.”

A hand on his back steered Crow Fox towards the men his grandfather sat with each morning after their meal. Bends Like The Willow started moving toward her son, but a brief shake of his head had the woman continuing toward the river. When they settled, Hawk White Horse seated Crow Fox in front of the men, and prompted the young man to talk.

“I saw many things …A long walk with few supplies. There were blue men talking about blankets of sickness.” He bowed his head, shielding his expression. “We tried to help them, but there were no medicines. We go in the time of the Harvest Moon. We walk until the Windy Moon.” His expression was full of fear when he looked up. “We must leave here or they will take everything … The horses … The land … Our lives.” He pulled his mother’s wedding ring that belonged to her white husband from under his shirt. “They want this.” The morning sun glinted off the gold ring.

The men nodded understanding the lust that white men had for the yellow metal. Hawk White Horse rubbed Crow Fox’s back soothingly.

“Was there anything else, my grandson?”

The golden charms woven in his hair sang as he nodded. “There is much to learn.”

“You walk a hard path.”

Crow Fox nodded again. “More than you know.”

“I will speak with your parents.”

He slipped off from his grandfather’s friends and headed toward the river. He wanted to think about the rest of his dream. He hoped his spirit guides would give him a clue about why they showed him with a strange brave and a white man with long yellow hair in mountains that touched the sky. Looking for comfort, he left the river for the tribes’ herd of horses. The antics of the foals always lightened his heart.

It did not take long for the clan leaders and chiefs to gather back at the Town House. Much was discussed about the vision and what it meant. It was decided several warriors whose coloring from their fathers allowed them to pass for white would travel as fast as their horses could safely be pushed to Nashville to collect what news was available in the large town.

_~@~@~@~_

Bends like the Willow and Red Clay Bear watched worried as their son tried his best to learn as fast as he could the things Spirit pushed him to learn. They felt a desperation coming from Crow Fox as though he felt there was not enough time for him to learn everything he needed.

He would follow his mother and grandmother as they went through their day, often disappearing to reappear with Red Clay Bear as he continued to teach Crow Fox the ways of the medicine people. In the evenings, he would learn from his uncles and cousins in Wolf clan how to take care of weapons, equipment, and tack for their horses. Three weeks from the time they left, the warriors returned from Nashville with newspapers and startling news.

The newspapers talked about the **_Indian Removal Act_** aimed at removing the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, and Seminole from their traditional lands so that whites could settle the land and mine the gold that had been discovered in Georgia. The Cherokee National Council was negotiating with the United States government for all the Tsalagi to move to the Indian Territories west of the Mississippi River.

Shock and disbelief ran through the elders and the tribe. They planned a corn dance and sent runners to the surrounding villages with invitations. There was much to prepare and many decisions needed to be made. These events seemed to be what Crow Fox had seen.

Many nights he would wake in a cold sweat with dreams of deprivation and degradation. Other nights he would wake confused by the changes in his body and the urges left by dreams of blue eyes as different as they were the same. Hearing the latest round of his son’s dreams, Red Clay Bear went in search of Hawk White Horse. He needed to speak with him about Crow Fox’s affinity with the spirits.

Crow Fox helped where he could in preparation for the corn dance. He stood in service to the elders, he listened to their words. Many are disbelieving of what the newspapers and the rumors are saying. They will stay on their lands until they are forced to leave. They all agree that they should send a delegation to speak to the National Council.

Hawk White Horse, Red Clay Bear, Grey Deer, and Swift Raven are chosen from the three tribes that attend the dance to make the trip to New Echota. They would leave their homes in time to arrive at New Echota for the Harvest Moon.

The women and some of the older children help make sure the elders have what they need while they discuss the changes that seem to be coming their way. Finally, they put away politics and concerns and settle back to enjoy the day.

Crow Fox watched the braves trying to impress the single women with their prowess in the dance. As he watched he despaired that he would always be alone. As much as he wanted to run and take comfort with his horses, he had chosen this path and could not turn away.

Bends Like The Willow had cared for her adoptive father, Hawk White Horse since his wife’s death shortly after Crow Fox’s birth. Once the visitors from the other tribes left the village several days after the corn dance she began preparations for her family to travel to New Echota.

They planned to leave in the time of the Nut Moon. This will enable them to have recently harvested foodstuffs for their travels instead of relying on supplies they are storing for the winter.

She watches Crow Fox prepare his herbs and supplies, which might be needed on the trip. He helps Red Clay Bear select and check the horses they will use making sure they are sound and healthy.

Bends Like The Willow is watching Red Clay Bear and her younger son when, Singing Waters, wife to the chief of the White Council paused behind her.

“Your son does you proud.” Singing Waters watches the horses gather around Crow Fox vying for his attention.

“The spirits ride him hard. He is much too serious for fourteen summers. He should be playing stick ball with the other boys, not worrying about how fast he can learn everything he needs to know.” Bends Like The Willow sounds exasperated.

Singing Waters nodded. “In these times, we must all learn many ways.” She added as she continued on her way.

_~@~@~@~_

It was soon time for the party to leave. Grey Deer and Swift Raven had arrived three days prior, and after a flurry of activity, they were riding toward Georgia. They pushed the horses as hard as they dared and arrived at New Echota seven days after leaving the village.

The women and children began making camp while Hawk White Horse, Grey Deer and Swift Raven went in search of those in charge.

Rides with the Wolf, Swift Raven’s son and Crow Fox took the horses to the river then to graze. Keeping one eye on the horses, Crow Fox scrounged the area collecting herbs and plants to add some variety to their trail rations.

It was late in the evening when the men returned with news of the disputes between the Five Tribes and the whites over land. The Congress in Washington had passed **_The Indian Removal Act._** The government was supposed to sign treaties with the tribes taking their lands here and giving them land in a place called the Indian Territories.

“We will lose our homes?” Bends Like The Willow asked.

Hawk White Horse nodded. “Many are leaving voluntarily. There has been fighting between the Seminole and the white Army. Men with guns have forced many from their lands where they have lived many generations. There is talk of going to Washington to talk with the leader of the whites about this treatment.”

“Can we do nothing?” Grey Deer’s wife, Face like Flowers asks.

“From what we are told the only choice is to leave before we are pushed out by the soldiers.” Swift Raven answered.

“Most of the fighting seems to be in this place ... Georgia.” Grey Deer added waving his hand to indicate the land around him. “They do not yet seem interested in our homes or the homes of our brothers in what they call North Carolina.”

They stayed at New Echota for three weeks. After members of the National Committee have been elected and a delegation selected to be their voice in Washington, they felt there was nothing else to be accomplished so they return to their homes.

During the Trading Moon much information passed between the tribes along the east coast. Much of the livestock and many of the horses were sold or traded away for items that would be useful should they need to make the journey west. The tribe’s council gave Bird Clan the responsibility of collecting information from the nearby towns and settlements so the tribe would be ready should they need to leave.

_~@~@~@~_

The village went back to its normal routine, but they were not as trusting and no longer mixed easily with strangers. All the younger members of the tribe became more focused on the skills they felt they would need to survive the coming changes. Bends Like The Willow had more students than ever wanting to learn to read and write the white’s language. Even some of the elders came to learn.

 Crow Fox listened to the courtship woes of his friends with the young women in the village, but never did he give voice to the thoughts running through his heart. Always the white face and the bronze face of his ghostly lovers moved through his dreams.

Things took a bad turn for the Tsalagi in 1836 when the Congress ratified the **_Treaty of New Echota_** causing a wave of fear and confusion to run through the tribe. The arrival of federal troops in the area nearly caused a panic throughout the Tennessee tribes. It was becoming apparent their time in their ancestral homes was coming to an end.

Not wanting to sit and wait for the troops to ride into their village, the council once again called on Bird Clan to send their swiftest messengers to gather information about the people in charge of moving the tribes to the Indian Territories. They would choose which seemed the best then try to make their way to the fort where they were located before the soldiers took away all their choices.

Planning the First New Moon of Spring Festival in March, the village began sending messengers to all the nearby villages with invitations. Acceptances were numerous as everyone was interested in hearing any news gleaned during the winter.

Messengers from the other villages visited often to give and receive information. When the year turned at the Cold Moon in January, Grey Deer and Swift Raven tell Hawk White Horse and the rest of the council the time has comes to extinguish their hearth fires, they will not be relit until they reach their new homes in the West.

When the messengers return, the entire village gathers in the Town House to hear their reports. It seems the most knowledgeable of the men spearheading the trek west is Captain John Benge, but they would need to avoid being captured by the Army long enough to get to Ft. Payne, Alabama.

Since things had remained quiet, they decide to stay one more winter in their homes. They planned to leave for Ft. Payne during the Planting Moon. The weather will be better traveling for the young and the elderly.

The month of May, 1838, found the Army moving closer to the villages around Winchester, Tennessee. The red and white councils felt it was time to come together and finalize their plans for going to Ft. Payne.

Jensen Crow Fox Ackles was now twenty-two and a constant presence at his father and grandfather’s shoulder. After returning from the National Council meeting, Hawk White Horse decided it was time for his grandson to not only learn the healing ways of the Paint Clan, but to learn the spiritual ways of the tribe. So, in addition to his healer duties, he began learning to walk in the elder medicine man’s moccasins, and his voice was often heard during council meetings.

Crow Fox tried to keep his own counsel, but there were times when the path the spirits had laid out for him was almost too much to bear. It was at those times he wished he had the men of his dreams at his side. As the meeting was ending, Crow Fox spoke softly to Hawk White Horse. The shaman repeated the younger man’s words.

“Any money or any item you consider of value … Be sure to keep well hidden for we do not know what these armies may try to take from us once we reach Ft. Payne.”

Nodding sadly, the members of the tribe left the Town House to begin their final preparations. By the time of the Green Corn Moon in June, the darkened circles of the fire pits were the only indicators that a village had once sat in the meadow by the river.

_~@~@~@~_

Though it was only seventy-five miles to Ft. Payne, the tribe moved carefully southward. They stayed away from well-traveled paths, fearing the Army would be watching. The warriors of Wolf Clan moved out in front of them scouting for the easiest route and watching for men in blue uniforms. Deer Clan scouted to the east while Bird Clan took the west. Wild Potato ranged behind obliterating the most obvious signs of their passing.

The rest of the tribe ranged within the circle of the warriors’ protection collecting plants, rice, and tubers that were ready for harvesting, adding variety to their diet and saving their dried stores for the long trip ahead.

The journey was progressing well considering the difficulties that over a hundred people could have found. Red Clay Bear was able to handle the few instances of injury and illness leaving Crow Fox to replenish their supply of barks and herbs. He seemed to always be where he was most needed whether it was with Red Clay Bear or Hawk White Horse.

They had made it to the bank of the Tanasie River by the first part of September, their habit of resting three or four days at a time meant the members of the tribe were in good health. They camped for several days before crossing the river. There would be no traditional celebrations of the changing of the seasons, but the members of the tribe insisted they stop long enough to give thanks to Selu the First Woman and give thanks for all the blessings she had given them on their journey.

Lack of rain during the summer had the level of the Tanasie River low enough that there was little danger during their crossing. Three days later they stood at the gates of Ft. Payne requesting to speak with Captain John Benge. Cloud Dancer, Standing Stone, and Hawk White Horse were led to the Captain’s office while soldiers circled the rest of the tribe.

A short time later, the three leaders returned. Because they had voluntarily come to the fort, Captain Benge allowed them to camp outside the stockade walls. They soon found a spot in sight of the fort, but close to water. Everyone pitched in and they soon had temporary shelters erected and cook fires started.

They had been left in peace for several days when Captain Benge and four other men rode into camp, and asked to speak with the council. Everyone gathered in the center of camp to listen to the men.

“These men have come from the Indian Agency north of here. One of the Cherokee’s great leaders, Chief Whitepath, has had a vision. He was told that he needed to find a very special man to travel with him to the west. Because of his status and to show good faith, we are searching for this person.” He paused, his eyes roaming over the gathered crowd.

Many of the braves were shirtless in the September heat. The Captain’s eyes roamed over the variety of tattoos that told the men’s life stories. His eyes stopped on Crow Fox. Benge saw the symbols for healer, but was interrupted by one of the men wearing gold bars on his shoulders before he could decipher more of the young man’s life.

“The man must be a healer and walk closely with the spirits.” No one moved or shifted their attention from the strangers.

Captain Benge took a deep breath. This group of Cherokee was their last chance. None of the other tribes at the fort had what they needed, and what he was about to ask was rarely admitted due to the stigma, for if the person had a lover, both would be shunned.

“He must be two-spirit.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening. Even the babies were silent. His attention was drawn to spate of Cherokee too rapid for him to follow, but he saw the man he knew as Red Clay Bear grab the arm of a young man who carried the markings of a healer though his coloration spoke of his white blood.

Benge spoke some Cherokee, this was beyond his ability to translate. He turned to his Cherokee scout for an explanation, but the scout shook his head.

“It is a private matter for the family, and not of our concern. The man will walk his path as the spirits dictate.”

The scout turned his horse away from the group. Benge prodded the man and received a cursory ‘ _They will come to us when it is settled’_ **.**

In the camp, there was anger, tears and the beginnings of grieving as Crow Fox gathered his belongings. His mother was devastated.

“I would never have said anything, but Whitepath is considered a great leader. If I was not supposed to do this thing, the spirits would never have sent the men here to search.” He argued. “If I stayed I would be cast out just as you cast out Mountain Turtle and Grey Dog.”

The elders nodded their agreement. They hated to lose a brave with the Crow Fox’s talents, but never had they tolerated the practice of people of the same gender lying together. It was tolerated, even celebrated within many other tribes, but not the Tsalagi.

He finished packing his belongings. When his mother would have come bid him farewell, Red Clay Bear held her back. Crow Fox ducked his head until he had control of his emotions. Gold fire blazed from green eyes as he gathered the reins of his horse and moved toward Benge and the others. The men sitting astride their horses watched as a single man with head high and back straight led his horse toward them.

Everything about the young man shouted Cherokee, but it was obvious he was white. From his sun streaked brown hair, freckles, and green eyes. He gave no look back at his family or the camp. He could only look forward for he could no longer change the path he walked. He’d hidden his true nature, but the spirits would not allow him to veer from his path.

“He has made a great sacrifice.” The Cherokee scout’s voice held a note of awe.

“He is willing to leave his family to travel with Whitepath?” Benge pushed.

“He no longer has a choice.”

Benge looked at the men from the Indian Agency. “I do not follow your meaning. His wife was Cherokee, but he didn’t know the inside workings of the tribe.

“The minute he admitted to being two-spirit, he was considered dead to the tribe. Tsalagi do not tolerate such among them.”

The man he’d been introduced to as a reporter from a Washington newspaper gasped at the scout’s statement. Benge turned his attention back to the young brave as he approached, and shivered as he met the emotionless green eyes that seemed to see to the bottom of his soul. His tone was brusque when he spoke.

“You will leave at first light. You will be traveling with these gentlemen, Lieutenant Roger Lake, Scout Jesse Smith, and Steven Carlson, a reporter who will keep an accounting of the journey.”

“I will be ready.” The handsome young man responded in perfect English. “You have a place I may put my horse for the night?”

“Jesse will show you where to stow your horse and gear.”

The Army scout led him toward a small camp along the stockade walls.

_~@~@~@~_

It was just light enough for the horses to travel safely when Crow Fox walked up to the stockade gate leading his gelding. He hoped the camp remained sleeping until he was gone. He did not think his heart could take the pain of leaving if he had to see them. A rustling to his right drew his attention to the shadows in the trees.

Hawk White Horse stood in the shadows looking to the East as though greeting the day. Crow Fox did the same for he would not cause his grandfather shame by acknowledging that he was breaking tribal taboo.

“It hurts my heart to see you about to be shunned in two places. You have always had and will continue to have a hard and lonely path.” He spoke quietly toward the dawn.

“I must do this. I must walk this path to the Territories. The spirits do not tell me why … Only that I must.”

“What else do the spirits show you?”

“The one they called Steven Carlson.” Crow Fox blushed.

“What about him?”

“For now, only that he will be important to me.” Crow Fox spoke to the sun.

 This was killing him. The spirits had always asked, and he had always answered, but this … This time it just too seemed too much. Standing between them and the camp was a shiny white stallion with moss green eyes, a sleek black wolf with blue eyes, and off to the side was a beautiful but shy lynx with blue eyes.

The old medicine man gasped. “Who are the guides that wait with yours?”

“I believe the lynx is Steven Carlson. He appears so much more than just a writer. I do not know the wolf. Perhaps he belongs to the brave I see in my dreams along with Carlson.”

“What of these men?” His grandfather asked, surprised the young healer had hidden so much from them.

“He will be what he is meant to be.” Crow Fox answered thoughtfully.

“It is well that your new yellowed hair friend will travel at your side. I dislike the thought of you walking this path alone.”

“I know. I understand why you must follow the actions of the others.” Crow Fox answered calmly.

“I do not. Though perhaps it is so I will know better how the families of the others feel. So that I may better serve their needs?”

“Perhaps I will be needed more in this place to the north.” Crow Fox’s voice broke.

“You think this Steven is more than a writer?”

“I think he searches for his place. His words are only part of his heart. Perhaps he will find the key to unlocking the rest.”

The dun shoved his nose against Crow Fox’s shoulder drawing him away from his grandfather’s attention as the gates began to open. By the time his traveling companions were outside, he had mounted and was ready to begin what he knew in his heart would be the worst time of his young life.

_~@~@~@~_

The scout, Jesse Smith took point. Keeping watch to the rear, Lt. Lake rode slightly behind Crow Fox and Steven Carlson.

Crow Fox noticed the quick looks Steven kept throwing his way. He knew the blond was bursting with questions, so he slowed the dun’s pace and told Steven to ask his questions.

“I’m sorry.” Steven seemed surprised that Crow Fox talked to him.

“Ask your questions.” He spoke in a low voice. “It will help pass the time.”

“Do you remember your white family?” Steven asked.

“Of course, my mother is the wife of Red Clay Bear, one of the tribe’s medicine men.” He answered. “White men raped my mother because my grandfather wanted to make a business deal. She married a man who was two-spirit and they left her father’s house. He was killed by white bandits as they traveled to New Orleans. My mother came across a camp of Tsalagi out gathering food for the coming winter.” Crow Fox stated flatly.

“Your mother shunned you?” Steven’s face paled.

“It is the way it is done with the Tsalagi.”

“My God.”

“If it is easier for you …” He looked at Steven from the corner of his eye. “My mother also called me Jensen.”

They rode in silence for a while.

“How long have you been a healer?”

“I started to apprentice with Red Clay Bear as soon as I was old enough to walk with him. My grandfather has taught me much of the spiritual ways of our people.”

Steven looped the reins around the saddle horn to dig through his pockets for his notebook and pencil.

 “It’s simple to remember.” Crow Fox said. “White men’s greed took my mother’s home and created me. Now white man’s greed again takes our home.”

“Very eloquent.” Lt. Lake rode up to them.

“I do not care about eloquent.” Crow Fox admonished. “It is the truth.”

The healer was quiet until they made camp.

Carlson asked questions about little things while they ate and relaxed around the fire. Finally Crow Fox asked his own question of the three men.

“Why do you do this? What do you hope to gain?”

Lt. Lake was the first to answer.

“Duty. Though I may not agree with what’s being done to the various tribes, I took an oath.” He paused looking into green eyes that were far too old. “This thing is going to happen, but perhaps I can do something to not make it so bad.”

Crow Fox scoffed inwardly, but kept his cynicism to himself.

“You have a good heart Lieutenant, but I fear this expedition will cause it much pain.”

Jesse nodded at the healer’s words though he shuddered when those eyes turned to him.

“We cannot stop this and I would have my family safe so I scout and track for the Army so my family is not behind camp fences.”

“Your family was more important than your tribe?” Crow Fox rasped out.

The Cherokee scout seemed to grow smaller at the question.

“Our council chose to be forced off their land rather than go to the forts voluntarily. I would not have my wife and children make this trip in deprivation because of the pride of our council.” Jesse stated stubbornly.

Crow Fox merely nodded and turned his attention to the writer.

“I am a younger son with no place at my family’s plantation. I thought to put my education to use by writing and publishing my travels.  Perhaps others could learn from my experience.”

“Do you write the truth of what you experience or do you write that which throws your benefactors into a position of right?”

Blue eyes flashed at Crow Fox’s insinuation.

“I write what I experience.” Steven stated adamantly.

Crow Fox gave him a sad smile.

“We shall see how long people wish to read the truth, or if they only wish to read that all the Indians have been moved to these Indian Territories.”

With that Crow Fox rose to check his horse before retiring to his bedroll.

_~@~@~@~_

They still had four to five days of hard riding before they reached the Indian Agency. When they stopped for the night or to rest the horses, Crow Fox continuously scanned for herbs and roots that he might need. Lt. Lake allowed it so long as it did not slow their progress. He often caught Steven watching him. Their conversations stayed on neutral subjects about his life with the Cherokee until he asked about what happened with his tribe when he told Captain Benge about being two-spirit.

Crow Fox became very guarded with his words. He knew many whites like the Tsalagi did not understand or approve of two-spirits. He watched the writer from under his lashes.

“My mother taught many of us to read and write English.”

“Your mother could read and write?” Steven startled.

“She was raised in a genteel manner until her father gave her to his business associates. Her virginity for their money” Green eyes dulled as he told the story.

“But … But … That’s …” Steven sputtered.

“Barbaric, uncivilized?” He was a very serious.

“Was she forced to have you?” Steven asked cautiously.

Crow Fox stopped his foraging to give the writer a confused look.

“My mother was heavily pregnant with me when she stumbled into the Cherokee camp. She told me when she first discovered she was pregnant, she was going to drink a mixture of herbs that would scour my presence from her womb, but as she looked into the glass she had a vision of green eyes and freckles. She decided to keep me. She was properly adopted into the tribe, named Bends Like The Willow and married Red Clay Bear before she had my sister, Weeping Sky, and my brother, Stalking Dog.”

“She loves Red Clay Bear?” It was Steven’s turned to look confused.

“Yes. Do not your people marry for love?”

“No. I mean … Some do. Some marry for money or power.” He answered.

“What will you marry for Steven Carlson?” Crow Fox asked slyly.

“I will not marry.” He said sadly.

“Do you have a wife?” Steven changed the subject.

“I have what the spirits have given me.” He looked pointedly at Steven after dropping that small bomb.

Leaving the writer staring after him, he walked back into camp where he laid out his herbs to dry. Steven settled on his bedroll with his notebook, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.

Several times the next day, Crow Fox noticed Steven talking with Jesse, the scout’s expression cautious. The next day Jesse rode alongside Crow Fox for a short time.

“We will reach the Agency at Ft. Cass tomorrow.”

Crow Fox nodded.

“Things are not so good there as they were at Ft. Payne. There are many more Tsalagi here.”

Crow Fox’s face was bleak as he met Jesse’s eyes.

“They have forgotten themselves already?”

“A few who seek to have an advantage over the weak. They may not take kindly to the presence of a two-spirit. Nor do the whites except perhaps for your writer friend.”

Though Jesse had warned him things were bad, the squalor of the camps at Ft. Cass still shocked the healer. Lt. Lake took them directly to the post commander’s office where he was introduced to Elijah Hicks, who would be leading the group with Whitepath and Fly Swift. Brother-in-law to the Chief John Ross, Elijah Hicks took one look at Crow Fox and let his mouth speak before his brain.

“You’re white!”

Crow Fox kept his face still and his voice quieter than normal. “Only until I was born Tsalagi.”

Hicks harrumphed before gathering himself. “Yes … Well … Let’s get this over with. You’ll be living with Whitepath’s family for the time being.”

“Sir.” Crow Fox interrupted. “Two-spirits are shunned by the Tsalagi. I do not understand why Whitepath would ask for one or that his family would allow a two-spirit to live amongst them.”

Not giving an answer, Hicks headed for the door expecting Crow Fox to follow, Steven and Lt. Lake were not far behind. Whitepath and his council were gathered outside his shelter. Their conversations stopped when they saw Hicks. The two addressed each other with wary respect then Hicks introduced Crow Fox.

“We found him with his tribe at Ft. Payne set to travel west with Captain Benge.” Hicks finished.

The Cherokee elder took in the poised young man. In his quiet voice, Crow Fox relayed his clan and tribe then removed his shirt to allow the tribal leader to see his tattoos. This was an unprecedented situation … The Council allowing someone who lay with their own kind to remain in his household. Then Whitepath revealed the rest of his vision.

“Have you lain with another brave?” The black eyes watched Crow Fox closely.

Blushing to the roots of his hair, the healer answered truthfully.

“No.”

“Have you lain with a woman?” Crow Fox shook his head as embarrassment claimed his voice. “For you to live in my household as a son, it will remain so until we reach these Indian Territories.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Understood.” Crow Fox answered quietly.

With a nod Whitepath gave his approval that Crow Fox was the man his vision had shown him, and if he refrained from engaging in sex he would remain neither and both in spirit.

“You know this group will not have an easy journey.” Whitepath stated.

“Our council was careful in its selection of Captain Benge.” The healer answered.

“You knew if you had tried to stay they would have used force to bring you to me?”

“I would fulfill the wishes of the spirits.” Crow Fox waited patiently.

‘What of the yellow haired man?” Whitepath asked.

“He will have his place. He is finding his way.”

“It seems you are to be part of his path.”

“As he is part of mine.” Crow Fox answered truthfully.

“Come then, take your rest and I will tell you what we old men have seen.” Whitepath motioned to the dun horse standing quietly by his master’s side.

Crow Fox followed Whitepath’s grandson to where he could keep his horse, and helped him carry his belongings back to the shelter.

Crow Fox’ traveling companions re-convened back at the post commander’s office.

“Tell me what you’ve learned about this Crow Fox. Is he trouble?” Hicks asked.

Lt. Lake spoke before the others had a chance.

“From what I observed he is quiet spoken, knowledgeable in white and Cherokee ways, was born into the tribe when his mother left home after being raped by a business associate of her father’s. She was adopted, married one of the tribe’s healers and had two more children. Crow Fox himself was well respected in his tribe until the admission of being two-spirit.”

“Is he truly a two-spirit?” Hick’s gaze landed on his Cherokee scout because he had not been able to see all of Crow Fox’ tattoos from where he stood.

Jesse raised his chin. “His grandfather is their tribe’s elder among the medicine people, and he has trained as a healer since he was old enough to accompany his Tsalagi father. There are few trained in as many aspects of our life as Crow Fox has been.”

“So, he would be someone people would look to as a leader?” Hicks rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“No. He has a Cherokee soul and walks in three worlds, but his inclination toward men would see him banished as he was by his own tribe. Only the words of Whitepath, and the fact that he has taken no lovers will see him tolerated.” Jesse finished.

“Three worlds?”

“White, Cherokee and spirit.”

Hicks nodded thoughtfully.

“Mr. Carlson. Your observations.”

“He is well-spoken. His mother was Southern gentility and teaches their tribe to read and write English as well as Cherokee, and he was held in high regard. He sat with the tribe’s council at his grandfather’s shoulder.” Steven hoped he wasn’t making Jensen ... Crow Fox’s path harder by what he’d told Hicks.

The healer refused to talk about being two-spirit in front of the lieutenant or Jesse. No one knew better than Steven Carlson what white European society thought of people that loved members of their own gender. He was shocked to realize that the Cherokee were the same way. To listen to Christian clergy one would think the Natives engaged in sexual activity any place at any time with anyone. Wouldn’t they too be shocked at the rigidity of some tribes?

Within days of Crow Fox’s arrival, the first groups were moving out. Hicks’ group was the second to leave, Whitepath and Fly Swift riding at the front of the column the cavalry troops spread out along the sides of the group.

Steven watched Crow Fox moving among the column, along with the other healers, speaking with the pregnant women, the elderly, sometimes taking children up on his gelding. He wanted to talk with him, but the only way to do that was to follow him.

Steven soon found his arms full of small children or walking beside Crow Fox as they put two of the elderly matriarchs on their horses.

“You must watch yourself, Steven. Your superiors would look unfavorably toward you if you appear too familiar with us.” Crow Fox spoke low so they would not be overheard.

“If I am to write the truth,” He spoke just as quietly, “I must see the truth.”

“Tread softly, Steven Carlson.” Crow Fox warned.

Steven nodded and continued to walk beside his new friend. When they stopped for the night, the healers continue to move among the people. Long after everyone was settled for the night, Crow Fox returned to Whitepath’s camp.

Two days later, all the groups were stopped at Gunstocker Springs. Lack of rain during the summer was making it hard for the scouts to find enough water to sustain the large group crossing the Cumberland Mountains.

After a week, Whitepath went to Hicks about letting their braves go to out in hunting parties to bring in fresh meat. The women and the healers were already scouring the countryside for plants and tubers.

The longer they stayed at Gunstocker Springs, the more agitated Crow Fox appeared, though if you didn’t know the man, you would never realize. He spent many evenings with Whitepath and Fly Swift, listening intently while saying very little.

Many nights he was chased from his bedroll by dreams and visions. His dreams often took him riding west alone. He’d wake from those dreams with silent tears running down his cheeks. Other nights he woke with sweat streaming down the same cheeks.

Steven often prowled the edges of the sprawling camp—sometimes walking out of boredom, but most times observing, taking notes and hoping to run into Jensen … Crow Fox, following the younger man, learning his story and the events that shaped him into the unusual man that was quickly becoming his friend.

Finally, a month after being forced to stop, the group once again started west. Crow Fox was never far from Whitepath or Fly Swift. Both elderly Cherokees’ health seemed to be deteriorating the further they moved from their home.

Finally, near Hopkinsville, Kentucky both elders died within hours of each other, leaving their mourning families in shock at the swiftness of their deaths. Crow Fox went in search of Hicks to ask for a delay in order to give the esteemed leaders a proper burial. Hicks expressed condolences, but refused. If they wanted to make the Territories before winter set in there could be no more delays. He gave them one day. Squaring his shoulders, Crow Fox went in search of their priests.

_~@~@~@~  
_

As hard as the loss of the two elders hit the group, the delay for the burial would soon cause even more heartache. The last group of Cherokee to leave Red Clay, Tennessee caught up with the main body of emigrants. Short on food, clothing, and the basic tools of survival, it was a ragtag group that appeared as they finished burying Whitepath and Fly Swift.

When Crow Fox saw them, he cried out for the others not go near them. He saw the gray wool blankets and remembered his visions from his vigil into adulthood. Many of the healers were aghast at his suggestion they not help their fellows until he pointed to the blankets and glared at the soldiers surrounding the group.

“They carry what the whites call ‘smallpox’.” He spoke as loudly so all would hear. “They are blankets of sickness.”

But it was too late. The disease had already taken hold in the group, and many were taken ill. They isolated those that were sick, making sure they had medicines to help with pain and fever, but the healers were hesitant to have contact with them.

They could not stop and wait for the illness to run its course causing the column to straggle out several miles. Hearing rumors of the sickness running through the travelers, many towns refused to let them come into town to purchase supplies.

_~@~@~@~_

The cries and the prayers of the women were so heart wrenching that even the most hardened soldiers and Native scouts were moved. Many still did not understand why they had been torn from their homes … Why their lives had been ripped from them. As their children died from lack of the most basic of necessities, some of the mothers soon followed, dying from their broken hearts and empty bellies.

The mothers grieved and cried unable to help their children survive the journey. The Elders prayed for a sign that would lift the Mothers’ spirits, and give them strength. The next day they noticed a beautiful wild rose growing along the path where each of the mothers’ ears fell.

Years later it would become the legend of the Cherokee Rose. The rose petals were white for their tears; the gold center represented the gold taken from the Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. A rose bloomed for every mother’s tear shed on what would become known as **_The Trail Where We Cried_**.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven watched aghast as the soldiers continued to push the people west without regard for their health or lack of supplies. He confronted Hicks and the other leaders on several occasions about conditions, but was firmly told that keeping the group moving was to the benefit of the whole. They could not afford to be caught in the mountains of the Ozarks during the winter months. As it was, they would see the turning of the year before they got to Ft. Gibson.

At each town, he sent packets of stories back to his publisher at the **_Daily National Intelligencer_** in Washington, DC. He didn’t know if any of them would get published, but he knew that even if his bosses wouldn’t publish his stories that when this trek was over he would find someone who would publish all of his observations.

_~@~@~@~_

Crow Fox’s heart ached at not being able to help those who were ill. They couldn’t even bury the bodies properly. In order to stop the smallpox from spreading, everything belonging to the dead including their bodies had to be burnt.

Rations and supplies were short, people and animals alike were losing weight. Exhaustion and exposure were causing more and more of the children and elderly to fall ill. With their limited resources Crow Fox and the other healers were hard pressed to care for them all.

Each evening when they set up camp, his time was spent going from fire to fire helping those he could, and offering comfort to those he could not. He became so well known for wandering the camp at all hours, the sentries didn’t bother challenging his movements. More often than not, Steven would shadow him through the camps, observing all that was happening while at the same time offering his quiet support to the exhausted healer.

Steven made certain that Crow Fox knew when he was going into town to mail his packets. Many times he would find money and lists in his pockets. He wondered where the healer got the money, but never asked. There were just too many ears and not enough privacy to have such conversations.

At each town he would listen to what the people said about Cherokee, saddened that many considered the natives to be less then themselves … Less than human. He kept his words behind his teeth letting on that he was just travelling through when buying the supplies on his list then leaving opposite of the direction of the camps before circling back around.

In one town, he found a copy of the _Intelligencer_ from when their trek had first started. The article about the Indian removal was buried in the back pages, but they had not changed any of his story. He spied other copies lying about the apothecary’s shop. Each issue he read raised his anger another notch.

His editors used just enough of his observations for there to be truth in the stories, but from there they were edited to make the Cherokee seem recalcitrant children who could not accept the fact that what was happening to them was for their own good and that the _‘White Father’_ in Washington, DC, knew what was best for people not intelligent enough to make their own decisions.

So angry he nearly left the shop without his order. He stopped on the sidewalk to calm down and collect his thoughts. Stowing Crow Fox’s supplies in his saddlebags he pulled out the package he had readied to mail to the **_Intelligencer_**. He walked to the general store where the owner was kind enough to loan him a quill and ink to write a letter to include with his other pages.

By the time he finished carefully wrapping his package he was smirking at the address he’d written. It was a smiling Steven Carlson that paid for his purchases. He stopped in the saloon long enough to enjoy a beer while waiting for the mail coach. He waited until the coach pulled out before he returned to the general store to find he had gotten lucky and found mail waiting for him. He’d sent a letter to a college friend that worked for the **_New York Evening Post_** before they left Ft. Cass _._ His smile lit up the room when he read the reply. Changing the address on his package had been the right thing to do.

 

_Master Steven Carlson,_

_New York Evening Post has been following your articles. Knew for sure this was not your writing style. I look forward to receiving your package. WC will pay for everything useable. He’ll do about anything to upstage the ‘boys’ in DC._

_Warmest regards,_

_Thomas Welling_

 

When he returned to camp no one had seen Crow Fox for some time. With his saddle bags still over his shoulder he headed for where the horses were huddled together. He found the younger man checking the horses’ legs and hooves for injury. The horses moved restlessly when he moved through them alerting Crow Fox that someone was around.

A smile lit the exhausted face when he saw the writer. It got a little brighter when he saw the saddlebags. Stroking his gelding’s neck one last time, he turned his attention to Steven.

“Steven! I was wondering when you would return.” Crow Fox’s low voice carried a note of excitement.

“I had to wait for the mail couch to see if there was a reply to a letter I sent to a friend or I would have brought your things sooner.”

Steven pulled his eyes away from the hands stroking the horse to the tired green eyes.

“I am glad that you were able to get these for me.” He started transferring the envelopes of herbs into his medicine pouch.

“It’s not much, but I brought some other things.” Steven surreptitiously handed him bags of cornmeal, rolled oats, dried beef and flour that he had bought.

Crow Fox placed the bags in pockets of his heavy coat and pouches to carry back to camp. His eyes were wet with tears when he looked back at Steven. Conscious that there were always eyes watching, he reached out to squeeze Steven’s shoulder in a friendly manner.

“You have truly been a friend in these trying times.”

Too choked up to express himself in words, he turned to walk back to camp cradling his precious treasures leaving a stunned writer to ponder so much gratitude for so little.

_~@~@~@~_

A few days later they arrived at the river to cross into Missouri. Hicks, Colston and Steven went to talk with the ferry man. Steven rode back to the waiting group huddled together against the bone chilling cold. Crow Fox leaned into the side of his faithful gelding using the animal to block the wind, the three children wrapped in his blankets on the horse’s back.

Almost too angry to speak, the writer relayed to the soldiers and the Cherokee how the ferry man wanted a dollar a head to cross, and they had to wait until he had time to take them across.

Concerned about staying in the open until they were allowed to cross, the group moved to the lea side of a bluff they passed a short walk back. While walking they began gathering wood. Hopefully some would be dry enough to get a fire started.

Steven had gone to rejoin Hicks and Colston. Crow Fox and a group of braves combed the area for firewood and anything else that might be useful for food or fuel. They had made several trips back to the camp dragging loads of wood.

They started their fires next to the wall of rocks. The children and the elderly were placed closest to the shelter settling the horses on the outside. Toward dawn the same groups went out to replenish their supplies of wood.

Crow Fox had moved a little ways from his group pausing at a small stream to refill his water skin and collect willow bark. Hearing the sounds of a struggle and cries of pain, he started toward the sounds when gunshots rang out. Not wanting to put himself in danger, but wanting to help his brothers, he moved cautiously toward to sounds. He had nothing to use to defend against men with guns.

He heard the sounds of horses, the jingle of military harness, and the shouts of the soldiers. He turned to see how close the soldiers were when someone grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him around. Something hard hit his cheekbone causing him to grey out. His heavy coat protected his body from many of the blows, but skin became exposed as his attacker pulled on his coat. The riding quirt the man is wielding makes contact with his unprotected head, neck, and arms keeping him dazed and unable to defend himself. Finally pulling Crow Fox’s coat off, the attacker continued lashing out at the young healer. He finally curled in on himself wrapping his arms over his head. He was almost unconscious when he heard someone yelling the name given to him by his mother.

“JENSEN!” The writer fell to his knees beside the healer.

Steven gently pulled the bloody arms away from his head, talking, trying to get Crow Fox to focus. The soldiers had gone ahead to check the others, rounding up the men responsible for the attack. He helped Crow Fox to his feet, wrapped his coat around him, and onto his horse. He stepped into the stirrup and swung up behind the wounded man and headed back to camp.

Steven headed back to the fires where he was met by Whitepath’s daughter, Dancing Willows. Whitepath had named Crow Fox his son so that it would proper for the healer to remain with his family. Dancing Willows’ husband had died from small pox and Crow Fox had been helping with her children, Fly Swift and Whitepath’s widows. Several braves came to help ease the bloody man off the horse and carried him to the fire.

Not wanting to expose the shocky man to the cold they left his heavy clothing in place. One of the children brought Dancing Willows Crow Fox’s medicine pouches.

While Steven held the underweight body upright Dancing Willows began gently cleaning his face, neck and head.

Many of the cuts were superficial and only required cleaning. Several on his neck and arms, and where the man had laid open Crow Fox’s cheek with the butt of the quirt handle would require stitching.

“Should we get the Army surgeon?” Steven asked quietly.

At the word, Army, Crow Fox started to struggle. Dancing Willows spoke quietly in Cherokee until he settled back against Steven’s chest.

“No. Crow Fox has been teaching me. I know what to do. My brother has the finest sewing needles in all the tribes. He will not look so fine as he did this morning, but he will still be pleasing to look upon.” Dancing Willows removed a strip of deer skin from inside the pouch.

“I don’t care what he looks like so long as he is well.” Steven growled at the woman.

She smiled knowingly at the writer as she threaded the thinnest of the sinew through the eye of the fine embroidery needle.

Blue eyes met black. “Above all else, he is my friend and has opened my eyes to many things.”

Dancing Willows nodded as though she understood something Steven did not, and continued with her stitching.

They soon had the healer settled. Dark eyes settled once more on the blond.

“You should return to your people. They will become concerned when you do not return.” Dancing Willows prodded.

Steven was torn. He knew she was right. He did not want cause trouble, but he hated the thought of not being able to keep watch over Crow Fox.

“Hopefully they will allow us to cross tomorrow, and all will be well.” She suggested coyly.

“I pray you are right, madam.” Steven carefully laid the dark blond head onto his saddle pad as he slid out from under the younger man.

Riding back the Army bivouac, Steven thought about how happy he’d been just a few hours before after returning from Smithburg where he’d found a letter and bank draft from his friend, Thomas. There was also a letter was from Thomas’s editor, William Cullen Bryant praising his observations and writing style. The fact that his ex-editors at the **_Intelligencer_** were angry about Bryant poaching their writer was icing on the cake for the **_New York Evening Post_**.

Steven had wanted to share his good news with Crow Fox when he’d ridden into the nightmare of the attack on the braves gathering wood. He found himself becoming confused by his feelings about the prejudices of the whites. Where once he had tolerated or brushed aside such behavior, he now found it appalling, and knowing someone who was a victim of said prejudice caused him to want to lash out at those who had hurt his friend.

The writer wondered if he was starting to ‘go native’, or if the feelings of violence he was experiencing was the effect of watching man’s violence against his fellow man. Either way he resolved to spend more time with Crow Fox while he had the opportunity.

When Crow Fox woke, Dancing Willows children lay tucked against him. He could hear the mourning wails of the families whose loved ones had died from the cold. He quietly asked Sings to the Sky to get his medicine pouch and some water. The solemn child nodded and scrambled over to his belongings. Swift Running went to inform his mother that Crow Fox was awake while the healer mixed a potion for his throbbing head and face.

Dancing Willows bought a bowl of what passed for their rations. Green eyes look up at the woman he has come to see as a sister.

“Have you and the children eaten?” He asked quietly as he felt along his cheekbone.

“Yes.” She handed him the bowl. “Your friend Steven brought you from where you were attacked. He was very worried.”

“He has become a good friend.” Crow Fox answered as he crumbled a piece of hardtack into the anemic looking stew. “How many were hurt?”

“Five plus you. Three were killed.” She answered quietly.

“Have they said when we will cross the river?” He forced himself to continue to eat.

“Tomorrow. The people of the town want us gone and have pressured the ferry man.”

The medicine easing the ache in his head, Crow Fox climbed out of his blankets. Dancing Willows started to protest, he reminded her of why he was traveling with this band instead of his family.

He started toward where they members of the band were burying their dead only to find Steven walking at his left shoulder.

“You do not …” Crow Fox started.

Steven raised his hand. “Yes, I do.”

With a nod the two men continued across the camp. Steven quietly followed the healer from camp site to camp site where he spoke the traditional words over each cairn as they had lost several of the elder medicine people and priests to illness and exposure on the trek.

Steven had started on several occasions to insist Crow Fox return to his camp when the freckled face would pale and the exhausted body would sway. The writer would start forward to offer his support, but a glare from the healer silenced his concerns.

Finally, when the last family had been attended, Crow Fox allowed Steven to wrap an arm around his waist and support him back to his campsite.

Steven appeared the next morning to help load the horses putting the children on his horse as Crow Fox helped Dancing Willows onto his gelding. The writer’s anger rose when he heard the ferry man saying it would cost $1 a head for the Cherokee to cross the river. He wanted cash … Not a voucher from the Army.

“I can …” Steven started, but Crow Fox shaking his head stopped the sentence midway.

Crow Fox approached the ferry man.

“Elijah.” The once melodic voice had been broken by the blows of the quirt handle to his throat, greeted the leader of their group with respect.

“Crow Fox?” The elder flushed as he looked at the stitches on the healer’s face.

Crow Fox handed him a pouch. “I believe this should cover the passage for my very large family.”

Curious Hicks reached into the pouch and pulled out a handful of gold nuggets. The ferry man’s eyes lit up when he saw the money laying in the bronze hand.

“A little something I picked up in our travels.” The sore throat rasped quietly.

Speculation and greed colored the man’s eyes as his glance went from the gold to Crow Fox and back to the gold.

“Well now …” He started to rub his chin whiskers in a calculating manner.

“Now see here Mr. Berry!” Elijah started as Steven gasped then calmed so that Crow Fox could make his play.

Crow Fox placed a restraining hand on Hicks’ arm.

“Mr. Berry. I understand the value the white man places on such stuff. There is enough there for the crossing of every man, woman, child, and animal that were allowed to remain in our possession. Therefore, it is my opinion that you should be about your job.”

The steel behind the raspy voice had Berry, Steven and Hicks taking a step back from the healer and with a spate of curses under his breath, Berry began to ferry people across the river, Hicks holding the pouch until everyone had crossed.

Once everyone was across the river they made their way slowly across the winter ravaged Ozarks toward Ft. Gibson. Provisions became harder to purchase as towns along the route were reluctant to part with supplies they might need to get their families through the remainder of the winter.

The animals pulling the wagons were given first priority, while the riding animals and stock for the soldiers were forced more and more to forage for what could found under the snow.

People and animals alike were soon pared down to flesh and bone. All their energy went to taking the next step, finding the next meal, getting up off the frozen ground in the morning to start the struggle over again. Each morning there were a few more that never got out of their blankets. Brethren left behind without the proper burial rites. Crow Fox prayed that their spirits would complete their journeys with only the simple services they were allowed to give.

Steven had become a fixture at the shoulder of Crow Fox. While he observed the trials of the Cherokee as individuals, he quietly worried about his friend. The healer rarely rested, attending to the needs of others before his own, glaring when Steven or Dancing Willows admonished him for it, then continued as he saw fit.

They were thirty miles out of Tahlequah, Oklahoma when Crow Fox finally succumbed to malnutrition, exhaustion, and exposure. Dancing Willows’ children were riding his dun while he walked alongside … Dancing Willows riding Steven’s mare. Steven and Crow Fox were walking side by side conversing quietly with Dancing Willows, speculating about what they might find when they got to Ft. Gibson. Steven turned back to Crow Fox to find the gelding nuzzling the long brown hair from where the healer had crumbled in the snow.

“JENSEN!”

“CROW FOX!”

Steven and Dancing Willows rushed to pick him up out of the snow.

“’m okay.” Crow Fox muttered as he tried to stand on his own.

Both gave a snort of disbelief as they helped Crow Fox onto Steven’s mare. He spent most of the day dozing in the saddle, but when the group stopped for the night he was once again making his way through the camp doing what he could for the sick and injured. The number of medicine people had dwindled until there were fifty to seventy-five people to every healer.

When he got back to where he had left Dancing Willows and the children, she had their evening rations waiting. They were all that was left of the group that started out with Whitepath and Fly Swift. The children fell asleep quickly while Crow Fox sat staring into his drinking cup.

“We will be separated when we reach Ft. Gibson.” He stated flatly. She gave a little gasp as she considered his words. “They will remember what I am and they will finish my banishment.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You have truly become my brother.” She said sadly. “What will you do?”  
“I will try to remain forgotten until Strong Heart has rested and rebuilt his strength. Then I will leave. They say the west is a very big place. I will follow the spirits until they tell me to stop.”

“What about Steven?” She asked coyly.

Crow Fox looked away a blush tinged his cheeks.

“He will walk his path. Most likely he will return to the east … To his family and friends.” Sadness touched his words.

“We could come with you. I have no family left.” Her voice hitched.

Smiling sadly, Crow Fox cupped her cheek.

“You have much to give to some very lucky brave. I would not have you waste your life and your children’s lives by following me into more of the unknown.” His face brightened. “Find my mother when my village gets here. She would welcome you, and when the two of you are alone, you could perhaps speak of me to put to rest her fears.” He handed her a photograph.

Tucking the picture into a safe place, Dancing Willows looked at her own son.

“I know how my heart would feel if something was to happen to my son, but I will do as you ask.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bundle wrapped in deer hide. “His most important possessions were buried with him, but these were things he cherished that were from his family.”

“But your children …”

“Have their own things from their father and grandfather. These are the things he wished to do before the spirits called him to lead our people.” She wrapped his hands around the bundle.

“If I were a better man I would not let you leave my side.” Crow Fox hugged the bundle to his chest.

“If I were the one your spirit cries out for, I too would not leave, but we are not those people. Know from now on I will speak of my brother, White Crow, who left us do the bidding of the spirits.” She gave him a soft smile. “Now it is time to rest for too soon they will chase us from our blankets.”

Dancing Willows moved to curl around her children. The newly renamed White Crow curled around the other side so they might share their warmth.

_~@~@~@~_

They were traveling between Tahlequah and Ft. Gibson when they were met by a contingent from the fort bringing supplies to the starving ragtag group. As the first to arrive they were housed in long houses and homesteads of Old Settler Cherokee who abandoned their homes, moving further into the Territories because they did not want to associate with the newcomers.

Hicks saw to it that the remaining family members of the chiefs were settled first in respect for their status. White Crow remained with Dancing Willows. Their first week was spent mostly eating, sleeping, cleaning, and answering a multitude of questions, and receiving food and clothing from the supplies that had been put in place for the arriving Cherokee.

The house they had given to Dancing Willows had a lean-to attached. White Crow was able to stable his gelding, Strong Heart out of the weather and was pleased to find a supply of hay and grain to feed the faithful gelding.

Steven had disappeared behind the walls of the fort right after their arrival and had not re-appeared. White Crow had been concerned that Steven had crossed some imaginary line the Army had imposed by befriending him.

White Crow himself had kept out of sight as much as possible. He often secreted himself in the lean-to when anyone would come to the house. He did not want to leave until he and Strong Heart were better rested, and he knew what had happened to Steven.

Sometimes the black robes, priests of the white man’s church, would come with their ledgers and ask their names, and the names of their families. They said it was so there would be a record for when the others came they could be rejoined with the families, but many of the elders did not want friends of the Washington government to take another piece of their souls so they gave them false names to keep the tricksters away.

White Crow gave them the white name his mother had given him, Crow Fox, hoping if the black robes words were true, his mother would find some comfort in seeing his name on what was called the ‘Dawes Rolls’.  He collected the supplies to which he was entitled for letting them put his name in the book, and was told to return every week at the same time for his next rations.

He calculated three weeks of rations and rest for him and Strong Heart then they would leave. Though it was still the time of the Cold Moon, he could feel the promise of spring in the wind. Strong Heart would have forage for there was little snow on the ground. Times would be difficult until the Windy Moon, but after surviving the trip to the Indian Territories, White Crow was not concerned about the occasional empty belly.

Dancing Willows came with news that a group of new arrivals traveling with Captain John Benge were camped near the river. Her news that very few had been lost during the trip lightened his heart. According to the gossip most of their Council survived, it was the oldest members of the tribe that had perished on the journey. The Army was hoping to engage the Council member’s help in establishing order and cooperation among the various tribes.

“I hope the Army was smart enough to talk to the women and not the men.” White Crow chuckled, his voice still carrying the effects of the attack in Missouri. “I fear trouble will come when the eastern chiefs arrive and try to exert control over the western tribes.”

Returning to repairing his heavy coat, White Crow paid no mind as Dancing Willows watched him. She studied her handiwork where she had stitched his face and throat. She knew with time they would lose their angry red color, but for now they were constant reminders of the attack. If the handle of the quirt had hit a little higher White Crow could have lost his eye … Or worse his life.

He would always carry the rasp where the toe of a boot had damaged his voice box. Dancing Willows had not seen him without his shirt since she had stitched his arms and chest. His heavy coat had protected him until the attacker had pulled it off. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned her attention to what White Crow was saying.

“… With so many of your clans diminished, it might be wise for you to merge with another.”

“I know I cannot talk you out of leaving, but your mother …” She stopped when White Crow began shaking his head.

“She has accepted that I am gone. I would not start her grieving again.” The set of his jaw told her he would not be swayed.

Then she noticed all his gear lying by the table, patches and new stitches over much of it.

“When will you leave?”

“After the next round of rations.” He ducked his head. “Strong Heart is rested and we are in no hurry.”

“What of your friend?” Dancing Willows tried once more to tempt him to stay.

He shrugged and continued to run his hand over the already mended coat.

“He will find me or not as is his path.”

“Why are you leaving it all in the hands of the spirits?” She was getting angry that he was not fighting harder to get what he needed.

Green eyes sparkled with unshed tears when White Crow raised his head.

“It is all I know. It is all I have been taught as a healer and by Grandfather.”

Dancing Willows sighed. She crouched down resting her hand on his thigh.

“I do not wish to sound like the scolding blue jay, but you gave much to fulfill my father’s vision, I wish the spirits would reward you for giving up your family.”

He gave her a slight smile.

“I do not think that is how it works, but I thank you for not turning me away. I wish you happiness, Little Sister.” He stood pulling her to her feet and giving her a hug.

_~@~@~@~_

White Crow repacked his belongings and supplies, setting everything inside the lean-to. He waited until everyone was sound asleep before slipping out. He threw a saddle that had been left in the lean-to over Strong Heart’s back followed by his bags and pouches. The gelding grumbled at being led from his warm bed. He kept to the shadows, moving silently away from the small settlement.

To keep from endangering the gelding’s legs by riding in the dark, he continued to lead him though they were far enough from the settlement to not be seen. He found a group of trees that sheltered them from the wind while they waited for daylight.

He did the best he could to keep the trees between him and anyone that might be watching. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he finally dropped down the other side of a slight rise. White Crow had thought that when he left that Steven would be at his side, but apparently, it was not meant to be. He wondered if it was his scars …

The jingle of a bridle brought White Crow out of his thoughts with a jerk. Strong Heart hadn’t recovered enough to try to out run Calvary horses so all he could do was act as though he didn’t hear their approach. He held a steady walk and hoped he didn’t have to try and bluff his way past a patrol.

He breathed a little easier when he only heard two sets of hoof beats. Hearing the animals pick their pace up to a trot caused his spine to stiffen with anxiety.

“White Crow! … Jensen!”

He was so shocked to hear Steven’s voice he pulled his gelding to a stop, and turned back to see Steven heading his way leading a pack horse. White Crow was still staring as Steven rode up to him. The smile on the blond’s face was almost blinding in its intensity.

“I talked to Dancing Willows.” His tone was scolding. “I’m glad you didn’t get very far. I just received a letter from my friend and employer in New York City.” The smile was back. “Though the story of the Cherokee migration is finished, they wish me to continue my travels through the west and send them my stories.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t happen to draw, do you?”

White Crow looked a little dumbfounded at the rush of information, but turned his horse toward the northwest.

“I have been told I do a fair job with a piece of charcoal.” He paused, letting Steven’s words settle in his mind. “Are you saying you wish me to accompany you on your journey?”

“Of course.”

“But … When you did not … I thought …” White Crow shook his head.

“You thought because I have been so busy arranging supplies and money for the trip that I had abandoned our friendship because we arrived at the fort.”

“I could not look for you. If they saw me, the Elders would remember what I am and banish me from the camp. Strong Heart needed to rest before we could leave. Most white men would be uncomfortable to continue traveling with me for fear of their reputation.” White Crow spoke more to his horse’s mane than to Steven.

The brown head snapped up when he felt Steven’s hand on his arm.

“I prefer to travel in your company rather than the company of Dancing Willows.” He held his breath waiting to see if White Crow took his meaning.

Green eyes widened as White Crow gleaned the meaning of his words. He touched the scar on his cheek only to have Steven cup the fingers and his cheek in his hand.

“None of that matters. You are just as beautiful now as you were before the attack.” He leaned across their horses and brushed his lips over the full mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day we met.”

So many emotions passed through the expressive eyes before White Crow ducked his head to hide his blush.

“We should move on before a patrol stumbles over us.” He gave Steven a warm smile before he kneed his horse forward.

They found a sheltered place to make camp. White Crow gathered wood for a fire and was surprised when he returned to find Steven pulling a small tent and poles from his horse’s packs. Pleased they would not be sleeping in the open, he hobbled the animals so they could forage before setting to work on their supper.

The silence as they worked to get settled for the night was companionable. Neither spoke until they were both enjoying a cup of tea after their meal.

“Jensen … White Crow …” Steven looked up from his cup shyly through his long brown eyelashes.

White Crow smiled. “I suppose that is the name I should use now that I must survive in the white man’s world.” His smile dimmed at the thought of never seeing his mother or Tsalagi family again. He squared his shoulders. “I shall be Jensen White Crow.” He stated. Nodding his head as though setting it firmly in his mind.

He felt the whisper of the breeze over his skin and smiled again at Steven, feeling the spirits had approved of his choice. Steven smiled back before turning serious.

“Jensen, what I did …”

“When you almost kissed me.” Jensen teased.

“Yes.” Steven blushed. “The other reason I left my home besides being the second son, was because I knew I would never take a wife and live as other men live.”

“Because you prefer to lie with men?”

“Yes.” Steven blushed at Jensen’s blunt question. “You didn’t seem surprised when I kissed you this morning.”

“That is because I have been waiting for you since I was fourteen years old.” Green eyes held blue.

“What!”

“When I did my quest into manhood, the spirits showed me your face and the face of one other. I had always known that I would be banished for my ways. That was why I stepped forward when Captain Benge came into our camp. I saw your face and knew this was my destiny as the spirits had shown me at the end of my childhood.”

Shaken to his core, Steven was unsure what to ask.

“You said you saw the face of another. Do we separate for some reason?” His breathing was ragged at the thought of losing what he’d only just found.

“No. He is a part of us. I do not know where we shall find him or when, only that we will.” Jensen laid his hand over Steven’s. “This is a thing favored by the spirits, but that does not mean it will be swift or that it will be easy. I have always known my way would not be smooth, and if you cannot walk my path with me than I will understand though it would deaden the heart in my chest to lose you.”

Eyes damp with tears and full of emotion looked up from their hands to Jensen’s face.

“My God, you should be the writer.” He chuckled weakly. He switched his grip so he was holding the young healer’s hand. “I would be proud to walk your path with you Jensen White Crow.” He bent across their hands and took possession of Jensen’s lips in a kiss that gave proof to his words.

The stamping and snuffling of the animals brought their attention back to the world.

“I will settle the horses.” Jensen stood with a smile.

“I’ll get things settled here for the night.” Steven’s breath caught at the ethereal beauty in the play of the firelight over Jensen’s chiseled features.

Still greatly underweight from the arduous trek from Tennessee, Steven hoped to soon see the younger man’s body back to its former condition.

Uncertainty gripped the writer as he spread their bedrolls in the tent. He stood hugging Jensen’s blankets to his chest when he returned from securing the horses. With a teasing smile, he grabbed the blankets from Steven and spread them with his.

“You don’t do anything uncivilized like sleep in your boots, do you?” Jensen teased as he slipped off his heavy weather clothing and winter moccasins before sliding into the nest of blankets and canvas.

“What?! No! Who are you calling uncivilized?” Steven growled as he began shedding coats and boots.

“The Tsalagi are part of The Five Civilized Tribes.” Jensen countered.

“Not sure that’s the part of Indian culture I’m interested in right now.” Steven joined Jensen in the bedroll. “I think I’d much rather get to know the ‘savage’ side of your tribe.” He whispered as he lowered his mouth to Jensen’s and covered the younger man’s with his own.

For a time, there sounds of wonder and amazement, moans of desire as the fire in their blood chased the trails of their fingertips. Bodies arched like bowstrings as teeth scored tender skin and hands grasped hardened flesh as each found their rhythm with the other, and quiet cries of connection and completion filled the ears of the spirits as they smiled on what had come to pass.

Shy smiles and kisses greeted the morning with a quick wash in barely warm water while breakfast cooked and they set their campsite to rights. They refilled their canteens and Jensen gathered a few tender plants that were just showing their shoots along with a few tubers not frozen by the winter’s frost to help supplement their trail rations, and they were on their way.

Their travel was unhurried as Steven made notes of their travels and Jensen gathered what plants had begun to show their greenery and sometimes took the time to do a quick sketch with the books and pencils of charcoal Steven had given him. He would fill in the details by firelight telling Steven what he knew of the plants and the animals he drew.

_~@~@~@~_

The weather held and the February days grew warmer and longer as the days climbed toward March. The two men shared their memories and their bodies, each beginning to know the other as well as they knew themselves.

Jensen and Strong Heart both regained weight and soon both began looking healthy and sleek again as plentiful food and easy travel restored both man and horse.

They had been traveling for close to two weeks, and Steven felt between his writing and Jensen’s drawings, he had a packet worth sending to his editor at the **_New York Evening Post_**. When they began seeing signs of a settlement the next day he was anxious to find whether it was big enough to have a post service.

Jensen grew quieter and more withdrawn the closer they got to the houses and other buildings. Steven looked over at his companion. Usually the silences between them were peaceful, neither feeling the need to fill the quiet space between them with unnecessary words, but this silence was strained almost fearful. There was no outward sign but the occasion dancing steps of Strong Heart gave it away.

Steven had just opened his mouth to speak when it hit him. The last time they had been near a white settlement, Jensen had been brutally attacked and several of his people killed or injured. Though his skin was white and freckled that marked Irish heritage in his ancestors, the man was born Cherokee, raised Cherokee, and treated as Cherokee by the white world. Closing his mouth with a snap, Steven settled into his saddle to try a figure a way to ease his lover’s mind.

Before he could come up with anything, they stopped to read the carved wooden sign by the side of the trail. **_Tallasi_ , **Cornerstone of the Creek and Cherokee Indian Lands.

“This is probably where some of the Old Settler Cherokee came after they left their homes in Tahlequah.” Steven offered hoping it would ease Jensen’s mind.

“Then we must be vigilant. If they discover my true nature, we will probably be asked to leave.” Jensen said quietly.

“Jensen …” Steven was at a loss for words as to how to comfort his companion so they rode on in silence until they reached the mercantile.

Tying their animals to the hitching rail, they entered the store and were greeted by well-dressed woman with an accent that marked her as being from the deep South.

“How may we help you gentlemen today?” Her melodic drawl drew their attention to a counter on the left.

Jensen remained silent leaving Steven to answer.

“We need to replenish our supplies and inquire as to a post service, and a place where we might rent a room for a night or two and stable our horses.”

The sound of someone with a heavy limp brought the men’s attention to a man of obvious Indian heritage moving toward them from a back room.

“We’d be more than happy to help with the supplies and the posting of any letters or packages.” The lady continued as though the man had not appeared.

“You can stable your horses at our livery at the edge of town. Our son Christian, will help you. There’s a hotel between here and there.” Her bright blue eyes smiled at them as she wrangled a dark red curl streaked with silver back into her hair pins from where it continued to escape.

“I thank you for your help, Madame.” Steven pulled out his best son of the plantation manners. “You have a most delightful accent. From whence do you hail?”

A light blush touched her cheeks at his compliment. “New Orleans, sir, and I thank you for your kind words.”

“As soon as we have seen to our animals and inventoried our supplies, we shall return with our list.” He touched the brim of his hat and with a slight bow turned back toward the door to see Jensen and the man behind the counter eyeing each other.

“Michael, don’t stare so. You’ll make the young man think he’s done something wrong.” He heard the woman scold.

Jensen had already slid out the door, so Steven couldn’t hear the man’s reply. As he swung up on his horse, he looked at the sign over the door. KANE MERCANTILE stood out in freshly painted red letters.

Their first stop was the hotel to check in and leave the bulk of their luggage so they could stop at the bath house on the way back from the livery.

Jensen saw the look on the man’s face behind the long counter and knew this was going to be ugly.

“Help you?” The clerk asked between gritted teeth.

Mindful of propriety in town, Steven never hesitated.

“We’d like two rooms for three nights.”

The man hesitated. He looked at the reddish brown hair, green eyes, freckles and stubble on the man standing beside the blond man, who though dusty from the trail, wore clothing of excellent quality. He’d probably get fired if the boss’ wife ever heard what he was about to say, but she wasn’t here.

“Don’t cotton to breeds in this hotel.” He pulled himself up to his full height.

“Excuse me?” Steven wanted to be sure he was hearing right.

“Breeds … You know half-bred between a white and an injun.” He didn’t like the look coming into the blond’s eyes so he rushed to finish. “They sleep in the livery or on the other side of town with the Negroes and Mexicans.”

Steven heard the rustle of Jensen’s charms that ran through his hair as he turned toward the door. Raising his voice so everyone in the lobby could hear, Steven let go his anger at the little man behind the desk.

“Mrs. Kane from the mercantile assured us that there were rooms available at this establishment.” He snarled. I shall be sure to inform her of her mistake when I see her shortly.” He was about to go at the man again until he heard his name called softly.

“It’s alright, Steven. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“No. Mrs. Kane said we were welcome here. Why would she lie?” He glared at the desk clerk.

“M… Mmm … Mrs. Kane. You spoke with her?” The clerk stuttered.

“At the mercantile. Told us where to stable our horses and a good hotel.” Blue eyes narrowed.

“Just let me get keys to adjoining rooms for you gentlemen while you sign the guest book.” The shorter man looked hopefully at Jensen, who was still ready to bolt for his horse.

“Jensen?” Steven asked softly seeing the spooked expression on his face.

Steven didn’t move toward the desk until Jensen had joined him. Jensen watched as Steven signed his name in the register then picked up the quill and in a graceful hand signed … _Jensen Ackles_.

Steven frowned at Jensen using his white name, but seeing the little man behind the desk pale at the thought that he’d tried to deny a white man a room after getting a recommendation from his boss made it worthwhile. He intended to speak with Jensen later about denying himself.

On the way to the livery they dropped their dirty clothes at the laundress’ and pulled rifles and saddlebags off their saddles as the stood in front of the livery.

“Help you gents?” A baritone voice that sounded like smoke and whiskey sent fissures of fire along Jensen and Steven’s nerves.

The two men exchanged a look as the man that belonged to the voice walked around the corner. Jensen was thunderstruck. There in the flesh was the other man from his visions. Steven stepped forward, but Jensen was sure he could not have moved if the barn was on fire.

“If you are Christian, then yes, we could use your help.” Steven answered.

“I assume my mama sent you down from the mercantile?”

Christian’s chuckle was warm and full of life. Just hearing it made the corners of your mouth want to curl up and join in his laughter. Jensen watched as Steven’s face lit up in response to Christian’s warm welcome. He stood quietly observing the two men partially hidden behind Strong Heart and the pack horse.

“The fact that most of the other services we require are between the mercantile and here did not hurt.”

“We?” Christian questioned.

“Yes, my companion …” Steven looked around for Jensen. He’d thought the younger man right behind him, “and I require stabling for our animals.”

Christian’s eyes followed Steven’s and found the man who practically blended into the dun colored coat of his horse. He frowned slightly at the poor condition of man and horse. The winter in Oklahoma had not been harsh enough for the two handsome creatures to be so skinny, but then the other man moved and …

The light coming through the barn door fell across his face, and Christian Kane recognized the face he had not seen since he was fourteen and his father had left him outside overnight for his trial to pass into adulthood.

“The spirits sent me your face in a vision.” Christian said in Cherokee. He turned back to Steven and studied his face more closely. “He was in my vision, too.” His tone was confused.

“You and Steven were in my visions as well.” Jensen answered. “I believe we are to travel through this life together.”

Pale blue eyes narrowed. “You are one of the newcomers?”

“I walked **_The Trail Where We Cried_**.” Jensen stared at the reins he wove and loosened with nervous fingers.

Christian studied the markings on the bags slung across the familiar stranger’s shoulders.

“Yer a healer … A medicine man.” His shock broke him out of Cherokee and back to English. “They wouldn’t have let someone as important as you leave Tahlequah … Unless … Unless … Yer a two-spirit!”

Jensen ducked his head, but it snapped back up at an angry hiss from Steven.

“Why don’t you shout it a little louder? I don’t think they heard you in the saloon.” He took a step toward Christian.

He was shocked at the venom in the blond’s voice, but Christian refused to back down.

“What’s wrong, little woman can’t stand up for himself?” Christian wanted to clamp a hand over his own mouth as he said the hateful words he heard uttered by the Old Settler elders of his tribe.

Next thing he knew he was sitting in the dirt of the barn floor, the sting in his jaw corresponding with the blond named Steven shaking his stinging hand.

“I guess the term ‘ignorant savage’ does apply to some Indians.”

“Damn. Did you have to hit me so hard?” Christian worked his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“How could you be so hateful? Jensen White Crow is one of the most stubborn, brave and giving souls I have ever had the pleasure to meet, and all you can do is make a crude joke?”

“He’s the first two-spirit I ever met. I was so shocked I just said what I’ve heard all my life.” The brunette climbed to his feet.

“Yes, well, perhaps we’ll find somewhere else for our lodgings.” He turned to say something to Jensen only to find Jensen and Strong Heart gone.

“Dammit!” Steven ran out the door to see … An empty street.

Hurt, confused, and not wanting to be seen, White Crow had turned off the main street and was leading Strong Heart down the alley behind the buildings. The spirits had obviously tricked him when they had shown him the vision with him, Steven and the dark one he now knew as Christian.

Christian was obviously part of the Old Settlers Tsalagi tribe, so White Crow was doubly cursed. He was a Newcomer and two-spirit. He could see the spark that had ignited between Steven and Christian. Steven did not need the complications of White Crow’s ignorance of the ways of the white world and the stigma of traveling with a two-spirit. He loved Steven and would not see him come to harm when people deduced that it was the writer’s nature to lie with men instead of women.

The crude remarks he had heard from the soldiers because Steven had befriended him on **_The Trail Where We Cried_** often worried White Crow that Steven would be ill-treated. Christian’s words had fed that fear, so he fled.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the prairie beckoning him from the other side of the church. When there were no more lines of the wet clothes to sweep him from the back of his horse, he swung into the saddle and continued their original path toward the northwest.

_~@~@~@~_

Angry at Christian and fear for Jensen had Steven swinging into his saddle, urging his tired bay toward the edge of town. Hope that he could find Jensen and convince him to come back to town had the writer leaving his pack horse tied to the rail at the livery. Returning to retrieve the horse might be the only way Steven could get Jensen back to town.

Hearing the sound of another horse, Steven turned to see Christian astride a muscular black, using nothing but a rope looped around the horse’s lower jaw for control. He opened his mouth to send the reason for Jensen’s flight back to the livery, but the stubborn look on Christian’s face had him closing his mouth with a snap. The other man had caused this mess, maybe he could fix it.

Not seeing Jensen when they got outside of town, the men pulled their horses to a stop. The rolling terrain blocked the younger man from their line of sight.

“Which way were you headed when you came into town?” Christian asked.

“Northwest. My publisher will pay for whatever stories and pictures I send, but Jensen said we needed to go northwest.”

“Let’s go. He can’t have made it too far.”

Believing he wouldn’t be followed, White Crow made no effort to hide his back trail. Keeping his tired horse at a walk, he began looking for a good place to camp for the night.

Strong Heart pricking his ears and turning his head to look behind them pulled White Crow out of his mental doldrums. Hearing the sound of fast moving horses, he looked for cover. Seeing nothing, but scrub and mesquite, he almost gave in to his panic. He knew if he asked it, Strong Heart would run until he could give no more, but White Crow would not injure his valiant companion in such a way so he pulled the gelding to a stop and turned to meet whoever was coming head on.

A friendly nicker from Strong Heart told White Crow it was Steven coming up behind him. An answering nicker from the bay mare confirmed his assumption. He relaxed in the saddle until he saw Christian riding alongside Steven.

“Why’d you leave?” Steven sounded confused.

“I told you I would not fit into your white world. It is obvious I was right.” White Crow looked pointedly at Christian.

The brunette ducked his head, his long hair hiding the flush of his embarrassment. Making a decision, he lifted his head and blue/grey eyes met green.

“’m sorry about the things I said. I let what I’ve heard others say talk for me instead of making my own decision and talking for myself. Once you learn about white ways, they’re not all bad.” He gave Jensen his warmest smile.

Christian was taken aback at the bitter twist to Jensen’s mouth at his words.

“Learn the ways of the whites!? Let me tell you what I have learned about the ways of the whites.” Strong Heart danced as his hands tightened on the reins. White Crow took a deep breath to settle himself so the gelding would relax. “I know of my white grandfather who sold his virtuous daughter to his business associates for money and power. I know of the white men in Washington, D.C., who lusted for our land to sell to other white men. White soldiers who coerced members of The Five Civilized Tribes to turn on their people by threatening their families so they would help the white Army hunt and capture members of their tribes to force them to walk many days to an unknown land to be beaten, killed, given blankets poisoned with the white man’s sickness. To be violated in exchange for food for their starving children. Herded to a place where they are unwanted by those who came before … I, who has the outside of a white man, but whose heart is Tsalagi have no desire to learn white ways. The only whites I have met that I wish to learn more of are Steven and the beautiful red haired woman at the store who showed me a kindness.” White Crow stopped the headlong rush of words in order to draw a shaking breath.

He looked down to see Steven holding his hand tightly as he reached up to wipe away the tears streaming down Jensen’s face. Jensen looked up to see a pale faced Christian staring at them. He snatched his hand away from Steven and forced Strong Heart back with the pressure of his legs.

“You must not touch me so in front of strangers, Steven. I would not see you injured because of other men’s perceptions of you riding with me. Leave me. Go back to Tallasi with Christian.”

“No!” Steven kneed his mare forward. “I took this assignment to find what was missing in me. I have found part of that in you. I will not give that up.” He laid his hand on Jensen’s arm. “Don’t you know I love you? From the moment you stepped forward to fulfill your Elder’s vision … Knowing you would be banished from your family and then from your tribe … I have loved you.”

Defeated by both his own and Steven’s emotion. Jensen bowed his head. “I will return to Tallasi with you.”

_~@~@~@~_

It was a quiet ride back to town. Christian was so shocked by what he had heard that he could think of nothing to say to the man who was younger in years, but so much older in experience. That he and Steven were lovers was not a shock. There were many who were known to take advantage of whatever warm body was available, but few who were willing to admit it. Steven's declaration of love for Jensen had shaken Christian to his very core.

The horses settled Christian watched as the two men crossed the street to the bath house before turning back to his own chores. The silence between them was comfortable … Peaceful as though Jensen's tirade had lanced an infection that had long needed drained.

When they entered the dining room a short time later, it was to find Christian sitting with the couple from the mercantile. The air around them was thick with emotions. Steven and Jensen nodded to Christian before taking a table opposite. Knowing Jensen would feel uncomfortable in the crowded room, they concluded their meal as quickly as possible.

Still recovering from their trek from Tennessee, Jensen went up to their rooms while Steven stepped into the bar to see what local gossip was making the rounds. Spotting Christian sitting at a back table, the writer ordered a beer before moving to join him. The smile Christian gave him was strained but welcoming. Steven looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear their conversation.

“If I am overstepping myself, please let me know, but there appeared to be a great deal of tension between you and your dining companions.”

“That’s puttin’ it mildly.” Christian snorted into his mug.

“I apologize if our arrival has been the cause for this strife.”

“The strife, as you say, has always been just below the surface. Your arrival has simply caused it to rise to the top. It’s been a battle that has been waged since my coming of age ritual.” Christian chuckled.

“I, too, know what it is like to be at odds with my parents. I was the younger son, but I refused to fall into line with their plans for my future.” Steven nodded in sympathy.

Christian raised his mug in salute.

“To kindred souls.”

With a grin, Steven touched his mug to Christian’s.

“Kindred souls. Cheers.”

_~@~@~@~_

When Jensen woke it was with a sense of disorientation. The sky and room were dark, and he was alone. He had not slept alone since leaving Tahlequah, and from the looks of the linens he had spent the night searching for Steven.

On his way to Steven’s room, he stopped long enough to stir up fire to remove the night’s chill from the rooms. As he approached the bed, the smell of beer and smoke assaulted his nose. Steven slept heavily and had merely removed his coat, vest, and boots before falling onto the bed.

Jensen took a quilt out of the blanket chest at the foot of the bed and covered Steven to ward off the pre-dawn chill then returned to his room closing the adjoining door.

Fixing a pallet before the fireplace, Jensen put away his white man’s thoughts and returned to White Crow. Sorting carefully through the packets in his medicine bag, he removed tobacco, sage and a bit of cedar, and a small bowl shaped piece of iron. Carefully placing coals from the fire onto the iron, he settled himself on the pallet and began to chant quietly. Using the sage and cedar he cleansed his person and his spirit. Giving the gift of tobacco to the spirits, he closed his eyes and let his mind move both inward and outward.

When he returned to himself, the fireplace had once again burned down to coals and the sky had begun to lighten with the promise fine day. His white skin and Cherokee heart had come to a place of peace where he could be Jensen White Crow Ackles without fear of losing any part of himself. Then memories of the visions returned and he lowered his head into his hands as silent tears ran over freckled cheeks.

_~@~@~@~_

A full bladder pushed his mind to consciousness. Steven groaned as he carefully rolled over and with as little movement as possible made use of the chamber pot. He blessed Jensen his thoughtfulness when he saw two pots sitting on the dresser. He could smell the aroma of coffee, but he knew the smaller pot would contain a concoction of herbs that would tackle the effects of too many libations.

By the time he was finished the two pots and had taken care of the morning’s ablutions, he opened the door connecting their rooms only to find Jensen’s room empty with very little sign that the man actually inhabited the room.

After a quick breakfast, he headed toward the livery hoping to find Jensen, Christian or both. What he found was Jensen with everything neatly laid out, a list next to their supplies, while he checked over every strap, buckle, saddlebag, tent, and piece of leather on all their equipment.

The stable was quiet but for the sounds of the animals shuffling and eating. Movement above caught his eye and he saw Christian forking down hay from the mow into the mangers. The dark-haired man didn’t look any the worse for wear. He either held his liquor better than Steven or Jensen had been generous with his hangover cure.

“Is the list finished for the mercantile?” He asked quietly so as to not disturb the sense of peace that seemed to permeate the livery.

When Jensen turned towards him, Steven gasped at the odd expression in the moss green eyes. He saw the warmth and depth of the younger man's feelings, but mingled in the love was a profound sadness. Steven wondered if was from what had already been endured, or if Jensen had had a vision. Steven hoped it was the former.

"Just checking that everything is in good shape. It could be some time before we are somewhere with a harness shop or blacksmith." He turned to make a notation on the list.

Steven shuffled his feet like he was uncomfortable. He looked around the livery, but saw no sign of Christian.

"What would you think of Christian traveling with us?" He asked quietly.

"It is no less than I expected." Jensen's tone was nonchalant as he began to repack the panniers.

Before Steven could form a thought, Jensen had put everything to rights and was headed toward the door with his list. Steven hurried to catch up.

"Let me take a look … See if I need to add anything.” He held out his hand for the paper.

“There is no need for us to both go to the mercantile. I need to visit some of these other places such as the apothecary where I might replenish my supplies. I will meet you in the lobby of the hotel, and we will have dinner.” Jensen crossed the street toward the smithy.

Steven stared after him resisting the urge to follow. Jensen had made no mention of money so he wasn’t sure how he intended to pay for his purchases, but Steven didn’t want to chase after him as though he were a child and not a man grown.

Dropping the list with Mrs. Kane, Steven also posted his latest writings and Jensen’s drawings to Tom. He made his way back to the mercantile remembering he needed to replenish his personal items, and add a few pieces of clothing that were more appropriate to the terrain that Jensen seemed determined to cross.

He stepped inside the door to the sound of voices that drowned out the tinkling of the bell over the door. The argumentative tone of the voices made him want to leave so as to not to interfere in family business, but leaving would cause the bell to alert them to his presence.

Moving quietly around the store, he gathered the items he’d forgotten to put on his list and placed them on the counter before moving back toward the clothing. By the time he had chosen what he needed, the voices had lowered to normal tones so he did not feel so self-conscious when he returned to the counter.

Mrs. Kane's smile was warm, if a tad watery when she greeted him. She already had his order bundled, but when she saw the clothing he had chosen she clucked her tongue in disapproval. She carried the clothes Steven had chosen back to their shelves, and returned with ones Steven hadn't remembered seeing.

"If you're going to be riding with Cherokee, you should be dressed properly." She teased. "These will last you much longer than those others. While the weather is still cold, your long handles will help you keep warm." She laid several sets of buckskins in his arms. "Christian and Jensen can teach you how to care for them."

"Christian?" He asked dumbfounded.

The two of them had talked about travelling together, but Steven hadn't thought he'd meant now.

"But his obligations ..." That was the reason Christian had turned him down … Familial obligations.

"Yes … Well … We worked that out. Loudly I'll grant you, but to everyone's satisfaction. I've already added Christian's supplies in with yours so everything will ready for you to ride out in the morning."

“Thank you, Mrs. Kane. We came into town to rest a few days and restock. We did not come into town to cause turmoil.” Steven said apologetically as he pulled his wallet out of his inner pocket.

“Christian has been waiting for this day for fourteen years. Michael and I chose to ignore what he saw all those years ago. You didn’t cause the turmoil, our own stubbornness did, and Kanes are nothing if not stubborn.” She chuckled.

“Will you be coming back this way?” She asked hopefully.

“I truly cannot say. Jensen no longer has ties with the Cherokee. We have trekked side by side since Tennessee, and I am excited to see what’s next.”

She came around the counter and hugged a surprised Steven.

“I will pray that you boys will return to us one day.”

Before anymore could be said, Christian came down the stairs from the family’s quarters over store.

“We’ll come by first thing and load the horses.” Christian started gathering parcels and tucking them under the counter.

Steven pulled out his pocket watch.

“I’m to meet Jensen at the hotel for supper. Join us? You and he did not get off to the best start.” Steven heard Christian’s mother gasp. “I beg your pardon. Since this is our last night in town I suspect you should spend it with your family. There will be plenty of time for mending fences with Jensen on the trail.”

Christian wrapped an arm around his mother’s waist and pulled her close to his side.

“Right. We can meet here after breakfast?”

_~@~@~@~_

They had been traveling steadily since daylight, and it had been a very quiet trip. Steven had started the day with high expectations. After supper they’d retired to their rooms where they’d made love until both were happily sated in the middle of the wreck of Steven’s bed. They moved to Jensen’s room where they’d fallen asleep twined together.

After breakfast, they gone to the livery and saddled the horses. Everything had been fine until Jensen refused to go inside the mercantile. He arranged their supplies to ride evenly across the pack horse’s back, and while Steven had stepped inside as Christian made his farewells … Jensen had started out of town, taking the pack horse with him.

Now a half day’s ride northwest of the Tallasi and the first words Jensen had spoken had been to tell them he found a place to water and rest the animals while they ate a bit of lunch.

_~@~@~@~_

Christian rested his back against a tree as he and the two men he’d met three days before enjoyed the respite … Each of them working their way through roast beef sandwiches his mother had fixed before they left.

When they’d caught up to Jensen, Steven had taken the pack horse’s lead, freeing Jensen to scout out ahead. He’d spent the morning getting to know Steven and Jensen through Steven’s words. He’d heard the Old Settlers in Tallasi complaining about the chaos the Newcomers would cause, and how the chiefs from the Eastern tribes would try to usurp power from the Old Settlers.

Christian’s family hadn’t really interacted much with their Cherokee relatives. His grandmother had accepted that her son had married a white woman, but Christian and his sister were always on the fringes of their clan because his mother had not been formally adopted into the tribe.

He’d done all the things Tsalagi children did including his passage into manhood ritual where he’d seen the faces of Steven and Jensen in his vision, but after that he’d become immersed into the white world of college, staying with his uncle’s family in Tuscaloosa, learning the difference between ladies of gentility, ladies of the night, and the things that went on when there were no ladies at all.

The irony of Jensen, a full blooded white, being more of a Cherokee than someone born half Cherokee was not lost on Christian. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, listening to the breeze stir the limbs overhead, the scratch of pencil crossing paper as Jensen sketched while Steven talked quietly.

When he opened his eyes, Steven was tightening saddle girths as Jensen scoured the stream bank for plants and edibles. Brushing the dust off the back of his pants, Christian joined the writer in getting ready for the rest of the day.

_~@~@~@~_

Christian sat transfixed as he watched Jensen savoring the stew he’d prepared from the jackrabbits, they’d snared while they were setting up camp. The rabbits were still a little skinny from winter, but it was meat. He was startled when Steven hunkered down next to him.

“There was little food on **_The Trail_** _._ I’m not sure what was in what they ate each night, but it was barely enough, and there were times when Jensen and the other adults gave their portions to the children to ease the pangs of their hunger.”

“Was it really that bad? Our Elders never took any of that into consideration. Just how much turmoil it was bound to cause, and all the other things old men spent their time whining about.” Christian asked sincerely. “Has Jensen always had the scars? His question seemed off-hand.

Steven handed him a leather bound journal.

“See for yourself. It’s all there. Jensen and some of the other men were out gathering firewood while they were waiting for the ferry man to allot his precious time to take them across the river. Men from the nearby town attacked the group. Several died. The leader of the men beat Jensen about the face and shoulders with a riding quirt. We were afraid he was going to lose the eye.” Steven wiped a hand over his face as if to erase the memory.

Blue eyes met when he felt a hand on his arm pulling him from the memory.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rouse bad memories.”

“Not your fault.” He laid his hand over Christian’s.

Startled at the jolt along their nerves at the contact, their eyes locked until both turned to see green eyes watching them unblinkingly.

Two sets of blue eyes looked away first.

_~@~@~@~_

The nights were still chill so they continued to use the tent. Though they’d fall asleep with Jensen and Steven twined together, they’d wake with Christian pressed to Jensen’s back.

Christian and Steven would act as though they’d been caught doing something wrong, but Jensen would smile his knowing smile that infuriated both men before kissing Steven soundly and leaving the tent to start the day. A red faced Christian would hide his body’s reaction to watching the men kiss in the confines of his bedroll until he could turn away to grab his pants and boots.

After a week of Jensen’s teasing and Christian’s embarrassment, Jensen had found them a campsite where the river they were following formed a pool deep enough for bathing and swimming.

Though the air carried still carried a nip of winter, the sun warmed pool was perfect so long as you stayed out of the colder water of the river’s main channel. Christian rummaged through his saddlebags for his toiletries and a change of clothes after he finished gathering enough wood to see them through until morning.

He checked the hobbled horses were staying close to camp before heading toward the river. He heard the sounds carrying over the water before he left the cover of the cottonwoods. Shock stopped him in the shadow of the old tree, but the beauty of the scene before him kept Christian both transfixed and silent.

Standing with his hands braced against the river tumbled boulder, Steven stood … His head thrown back to rest on Jensen’s shoulder as his back bowed with the intensity of what he was experiencing as Jensen controlled the blond’s body with the same grace and intensity he applied to everything.

Christian’s breath quickened as he watched Jensen nip along Steven’s nape and shoulders, as his cock moved in and out of Steven’s body. His fingers curled as though it was him holding the writer in place by his hips. Unconsciously his hips moved in sync with Jensen’s. He could feel the pressure around his cock as Steven’s body jerked taut and his climax painted the rock face. Sweat broke out across his face as he ghosted Jensen’s movements when the younger man bent Steven forward and moved closer to his own completion. The reddish brown head fell back as the long hair danced with his movements, muscles taut as Jensen’s climax filled Steven’s body … As Christian’s climax coated the inside of his pants.

Breathing heavily Christian leaned against the trunk of the cottonwood as Jensen rested his cheek against Steven’s back still buried inside the muscular body. Green eyes opened to stare directly at Christian … Their expression too knowing.

_~@~@~@~_

When Christian crawled into the tent that night it was to find his bedroll in the middle of Jensen and Steven’s. Without a word, he settled and when he opened his eyes the next morning, Steven’s smile was warm and sleepy, and Jensen’s arm pinned him in place.

“He does tend to cling.” Steven whispered.

“I probably would too if I were in his shoes.” Christian whispered back.

Their voices started Jensen to stir. Christian could feel Jensen rub his face across his back, reminding him of the livery’s old mam cat just as he realized Jensen’s morning erection rubbed against other parts of the brunette’s anatomy. He tensed.

Feeling Christian’s muscles bunch, Jensen released his hold and rolled away from Christian. Without a word he was out of the tent before the other men could protest. He’d kicked up the fire and set water to heat by the time the older men got themselves sorted out. Steven and Christian made it out of the tent, but Jensen was headed toward the animals.

Having taken a quick inventory of their supplies while he prepared breakfast, Christian looked up from the pack horse’s panniers and announced that they’d need to find a town or trading post in the next ten days to re-supply.

Jensen gave a curt nod before turning back to finish currying the dried sweat and dirt from the coats of the horses. He stole glances at Christian and Steven from over the horses’ backs. The dark-haired man made no protest over Steven’s casual touches and inserting himself into Christian’s personal space.

_~@~@~@~_

February had given way to March before they came across a trading post. According to the maps Steven and Christian carried, they were riding across Comancheria heading toward No Man’s Land. The kept the animals close, and their weapons closer, setting watches at night.

Their timing was perfect as the supply wagons had arrived the day before and the teamsters had not yet departed for their next delivery. Steven prepared a package for his employers, Christian saw to their supplies while Jensen looked after the animals.

They were able to coax Jensen inside long enough to enjoy the supper the owner’s wife had prepared, but as soon as he finished he was back out the door.

“Injun raised?” One of the teamsters asked.

Steven nodded not wanting to say too much.

“Must have got ‘im young.” The other chimed in.

“Why so?” Steven asked.

“He’s more comfortable bein’ red than white. Probably won’t git no better.”

Steven was shocked by the teamster’s words. Did Jensen have an ulterior motive to bringing Christian into their relationship? He reined his thoughts to a stop. Christian had a vision of them just like Jensen’s. Surely the Fates, Spirits or whoever ran the universe wouldn’t be so kind and cruel at the same time.

Both men were perfect in their own way. Jensen … Beautiful, intelligent, raised with few taboos and even fewer inhibitions. Compassionate to the bone, but practical and realistic. He was the perfect combination of both wild and civilized.

Christian … Ruggedly handsome, college educated, smart, brash, uncaring of the opinion of others, soft hearted and hard headed. Steven could argue any subject with him, but Christian can also relate to Jensen in a way Steven never can.

Steven knew he would one day go east if only to visit the offices of his employer. He had naturally assumed Jensen and Christian would travel with him. Now a few simple words had filled his head with doubt.

“Steven!”

The blond jerked his head up at Christian’s sharp tone.

“What?”

“Where did you go? I’ve been talkin’ you for past few minutes.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about what that older fellow said.”

“You mean about Jensen adjusting to life outside the tribe?”

Steven nodded.

“Don’t borrow trouble, Steven. It’s not something that’ll change overnight. Hell, it’s hard to tell how long ‘til we even see proper civilization again. We don’t know where we’re heading other than following wherever Jensen leads. I’ve lived in this part of the country most of my life, but I have a feeling we’re going to need all our skills to get through wherever he’s taking us.”

_~@~@~@~_

Jensen was wrapped in his bedroll burrowed into a pile of hay near Strong Heart’s stall. He knew his behavior was confusing Steven … Knew the writer was trying to understand how he could have feelings for both Jensen and Christian. How he could love them the same, but different?

Every night his sleep was marred by dreams sent by their spirit guides. His white stallion … Steven’s lynx … Christian’s black wolf. He needed to get the three of them together before they got to the end of this trip. This was only the first step in their journey, and they would be each other’s strength and weakness.

They were back on the road at dawn. Jensen had talked to the teamsters yesterday as he helped them with their teams about the best way to get to their destination. He committed to memory their directions though a wagon road across the prairie should be easy enough to find. They would be assured of good water, and it would keep them clear of the worse of the fighting between the tribes further west.

They traveled at a steady pace, but one that wasn’t too wearing on the horses. Jensen and Steven continued to draw Christian to them. As the weather warmed, they would have a care with Christian’s sensibilities and steal away from their camp to make love.

The brunette would blush and refuse to make eye contact, but his awareness of what they had been doing was written in his restlessness and the amount of time it would take him to settle after they came back to camp exchanging glances, smiles and touches that seemed a foreign language to Christian.

_~@~@~@~_

A spring downpour caused them to make an early camp to dry out. While Steven and Christian worked to get their clothes and coats dry, Jensen stripped to a breech clout and leggings. Several hours later, he returned to camp blood streaked, dragging a pronghorn.

Hanging it from a nearby cottonwood limb, Jensen skinned the antelope while Christian had Steven help him put together tree limbs lashed together with strips of leather to make a drying rack. By the time Jensen was ready to cut up the meat for drying, the rack was ready.

Realizing they were going to be camped for a day or two, Steven finally relaxed. Christian was occupied with spitting chunks of the antelope that looked to be enough to feed an Army while Jensen scoured the stream bank and surrounding area for spring plants to add variety to their diet. The writer gathered his materials and settled himself against a sun warmed rock to catch up his writing.

A shiver startled Steven out of a doze. Blinking he found the sun had moved around to where he was now sitting in the shade of the rock. Looking down at his journal he saw he had gotten a good bit written before he drifted off to sleep. Glancing around the campsite he took in the air of confrontation between Christian and Jensen as their hands and fingers darted into different shapes and signs. Steven recognized some of the words of Hand Talk that many of the Cherokee had used to talk among themselves when they didn’t want anyone to overhear. He watched for several minutes before Jensen threw his hands in the air and stalked off toward the picket line.

Steven could have sworn he hadn’t moved, but blue/grey eyes snapped to where he was sitting as though Christian was aware he was awake.

“You can quit pretendin’ you’re still asleep.” Christian snapped.

Steven stood and brushed off the back of his pants and replaced his journal in his saddlebags.

Pushing his hands through his long hair, Christian sighed.

“How much of that did you see?”

“Not enough to understand what was going on between you two. I understood your body language more than the sign. Sadly, I have been a poor student though Jensen tried to teach me as a distraction on the trek from Tennessee.” Steven grinned. “Jensen is usually slow to anger …”

He let the sentence hang hoping Christian would volunteer what they had been arguing about. His hope was dashed.

“Country mouse and city mouse.” Christian quipped as he turned back the rotating the spit so their supper didn’t burn.

There was no way he was telling Steven they were arguing over the validity of visions and following the will of Spirit versus going your own way. The argument showed Christian the powerful medicine that lived inside Jensen. That it had sparked his own medicine and brought forth the heritage of his blood scared Christian to the bottom of his soul.

Steven watched the rapid succession of expressions that passed over Christian’s face. The argument had somehow struck Christian at his most basic levels. He hoped it would not cause him to run for Steven had developed feelings for the dark-haired man that rivaled what he felt for Jensen, and he prayed that it would not lead him down the path of heartbreak.

_~@~@~@~_

A few days later they were back on the trail, their food stores supplemented nicely with the dried antelope. The hide, horns, hooves and anything else Jensen could salvage in such a short time secured on the pack horse.

Though they were moving north, the rains had finally turned warm, the new growth of spring giving the animals plenty to eat, and lifting the men’s spirits. Jensen and Strong Heart were finally back to full strength. Christian had finally given in to his curiosity, and his feelings for Steven and Jensen … No longer pulling away when they drew him to them.

According to Steven’s makeshift calendar, they were into the second week of April. They had left behind the Cimarron River, but still moving to the northwest. Watering holes seemed few and far between, but Jensen or Christian always seemed to find one by time to make camp each night.

This had to be the happiest time in Steven’s life. He had not only one, but two men who were in love with him. They were travelling through primordial wilderness where they didn’t have to hide from the censure of others. The only people they saw was at an occasional trading post. The few Indians they saw avoided them as readily they avoided the Indians.

It was with a sigh of relief that the river on his map finally appeared. Maps of the area were sketchy and incorrect in their markings. Jensen had been adding details to his map as they traveled. It turned out Jensen was an incredibly talented artist. The pictures he drew to correspond with Steven’s articles were so lifelike he expected the figures to walk off the page.

They took a couple days once they reached the Arkansas River to wash themselves and their clothes. Christian pulled out his farrier’s tools to reset the horses’ shoes. Their last night in camp, stuttering shyly, Christian asked them to make love to him.

_~@~@~@~_

The next morning dawn was just breaking as muscles overstretched and overused complained at the movement. Steven woke pinned between Jensen and Christian. He knew Jensen practically slept with one eye open so he was careful not to move as he lay contemplating the two men wrapped around him.

Steven’s thoughts had continued to turn inward as they rode. He knew why he was following Jensen, but why was Christian? Until six weeks ago, they had never met. Jensen and Steven were figures from a fourteen-year-old’s vision quest, but without so much as a ‘by your leave’ he’d followed them into the wilderness and become their lover.

The chuckle in Steven’s mind sounded slightly warped, but the whole scenario was more than a little bent. A year ago, he was bemoaning ever finding someone to love without leaving the place of his birth. A year later he was sitting in the middle of everywhere with not one but two men who loved him.

They broke over the top of a rise, Jensen signaling a stop. With all his woolgathering, Steven hadn’t realized they’d been riding steadily up hill. Loosening the girths on their saddles they pulled strips of dried meat and hard tack from their saddlebags taking the chance to eat while the horses cooled down and caught their breath.

While they ate, Jensen sketched out what he could see in all directions. Christian checked the pack horse’s load and all their hooves before sitting on his haunches next to Steven. He blushed and letting out a deep breath he started speaking quietly.

“I really expected when I woke up this mornin’ for things to be awkward and uncomfortable.” He peeked at Steven through the screen of his lashes. “Except for the kisses and exchanges of affection it was like any other mornin’.“ His blush deepened. “There were, of course, the abused muscles and the marks of passion as reminders…” His tone was coy.

Steven chuckled warmly as he sipped from his canteen.

“I, too, am amazed at how after a rocky beginning we have come together like pieces of a puzzle.” His expression turned serious. “This trip … Us …” Steven gripped Christian’s hand. “Has been a godsend. Our nightmares have lessened greatly. Jensen no longer worries at his scars. I don’t know what blessings or madness brought us together, but I for one wish to never see it end.”

“I know what you mean. I’d resigned myself to never leaving Tellasi though I looked for the both of you with each new face.” Christian shook his head. “Whatever this is, I would not go back.”

They sat content until growled Cherokee drew their attention to Jensen. The younger man had dozed leaning against Strong Heart’s front leg. Christian’s stallion had become curious about the ornaments in Jensen’s hair. He lowered his head and used his agile upper lip to maneuver one of the small braids between his teeth and tugged. Jensen had startled awake and was scolding the unrepentant horse in Cherokee while Steven and Christian tried not to laugh out loud. Stormy green eyes turned in their direction as the scolding tone now included them.

_~@~@~@~_

Christian was settling the horses while Steven cooked and Jensen scoured the prairie for burnable material. He returned with a combination of dead wood and buffalo chips. Steven curled his nose.

“You would rather have a cold camp?” Jensen arched an eyebrow at the writer.

“I see your point.”

Steven watched the healer as he arranged the fuel by the fire pit. He’d wanted a private word with Jensen, but the more he tried, the more it seemed they were never alone. He saw Christian still with the horses so he stopped Jensen with a touch.

“Jensen?” Steven kept his voice low.

When Jensen looked up, the green eyes were warm and relaxed.

“We’ve been traveling for six weeks … Always moving northwest. Where are we going?”

Jensen rummaged through his ever present pouch pulling out his sketch pad. He turned a few pages and handed it to Steven.

“Here. We are going here to meet this man.”

Steven looked at a drawing of a fort with lodges of the plains Indians outside the walls. A tall thin man stood at the gate. The picture was so detailed, Steven expected the people to move. He was startled out of his wonderment by Christian.

“What’cha got?” He looked over Steven’s shoulder. “That’s incredible. Where is it?”

“I do not know. I draw what appears in my dreams.” Jensen ducked his head and shrugged.

_~@~@~@~_

They progressed steadily across the prairie, the landscape becoming more rugged as they moved toward the mountains. There was an underlying nervousness about finding the fort, but they didn’t let it overshadow their deepening relationship. Christian had relaxed and the softer side of his personality began to shine through. Never one to expend a lot of words to express himself, Jensen and Steven learned to read his touches and the expressive face and changeable eyes … Just as he learned to read them.

The calendar had moved into April, but at the higher elevation, the air still carried winter’s icy touch. As they snuggled together in the combined bedrolls, Christian asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“What happens when we find this fort?”

Tugging Christian back against his chest, Jensen told them his dreams.

_~@~@~@~_

Christian and Steven had begun to despair finding Jensen’s fort and were quietly discussing different scenarios if there was no fort while Jensen scouted out ahead. When Jensen disappeared from sight longer than normal, they kicked their horses into a trot to catch up.

Topping the small hill, they reined their horses to a stop. Lying before them in the shallow river valley was an adobe stockade flying an American flag. When they crossed the river, Jensen was stopped inside the tree line.

“Jensen?” Steven and Christian turned back confused.

“I’ll set camp.” He said quietly still staring at the fort.

“But …” Christian started to argue until Steven rested a hand on his arm.

“We’ll restock the supplies and be back as soon as we can.”

Jensen nodded and pulled a smaller pouch out of his medicine bag and threw it to Steven. With a nod of acknowledgement, the older men headed for the Army outpost.

_~@~@~@~_

Curiosity finally got the better of the dark-haired man.

“What’s in the pouch?”

“Money.”

“I thought the government confiscated all the Eastern tribes’ assets?”

“They did, but Jensen’s original tribe was smart. They went to Alabama and turned themselves in to Captain Benge before the soldiers came looking for them. They hid their valuables among their clothing and bedrolls. The soldiers never found any of it.”

“But Jensen was born to the tribe. They wouldn’t make a lot of money selling crops and the occasional horse.” Christian argued.

“When Jensen’s mother ran away from her father, she emptied out the old bastard’s safe, plus she had the money her husband had been carrying. She gave all that to him when he revealed himself to be two-spirit and became the one person that could fulfill an old Cherokee chief’s vision.” Steven’s tone was serious.

Though he loved both men, he gave Christian the bare bones of Jensen’s history. He felt the rest was Jensen’s story to tell, including the fact that the jewelry and charms Jensen wore were gold melted down from the coins also taken from his white grandfather.

“Does Jensen know where the money came from?” Christian asked, fascinated.

“Yes. His mother never hid the truth from him, but as far as he was concerned Red Clay Bear was his father. He understands both the red and white world. He told me his mother taught him how to live among the whites, but he chooses to follow the will of the Old Ones, whatever that means.” Steven shook his head as the approached the gates of the fort.

“What it means …” Christian’s voice held a note of sadness. “Is that he will put his own life and feelings to the side to fulfill the wishes of the Old Ones. It’s supposedly part of being two-spirit. Jensen is a balance of male and female, a foot in this world and a foot in the spirit world.” Christian’s expression was sheepish when he finished.

“If you know all these things why were you such an ass when you figured out he was two-spirit?” Steven’s tone had taken on a hard edge.

“Like I said … Knee jerk reaction from listenin’ to the old men sittin’ around arguin’, Choctaw on one side, Cherokee on the other.” Christian’s voice was still quiet. “They teach us to listen to the Elders. I guess my mama was a bad influence with sendin’ me off to college, but what you learn when you’re little, it sometimes sticks in your head.”

Steven stared hard at him for several seconds before he nodded and continued through the gates of the fort.

_~@~@~@~_

When they returned to where they’d left Jensen, they found he’d moved back across the river. Strong Heart grazed hobbled in the rich spring grass. A coffee pot sat bubbling on the fire. There was no sign of the younger man, but pine boughs and the canvas from their tent made a snug shelter using a grouping of boulders along the river.

They unsaddled and hobbled their horses keeping an eye out for Jensen. Looking around the campsite, they wondered at the feeling of permanence. Tack settled alongside Jensen’s they moved to the lean-to with their saddle bags and bed rolls. When they came out, Jensen had returned with several rabbits along with greens and tubers. Two sets of blue eyes caught green ones.

“Jensen, how long are we going to be here?” Steven asked

Guileless green eyes looked back. A negligent shrug as he laid out his bounty.

“Until the man comes. Then we will know where to go.”

Do you have any idea when that will be?” Christian added.

With another shrug, he began skinning the rabbits.

“During Ripe Corn … Maybe the Fruit Moon.”

Steven looked at Christian.

“July or August.”

“At least I’ll be able to send mail to my employer and remain in one place long enough to receive an answer.” Steven’s tone was caustic as he began pulling pots and utensils from the panniers.

_~@~@~@~_

Not one to sit idle, Christian soon had himself hired by the fort’s commander as a hunter. It took a lot of meat to feed the residents of the fort, and the Army didn’t mind paying someone to provide if it meant the soldiers were free to attend Army matters.

Steven and sometimes Jensen would accompany Christian on his hunts, but for the most part, Jensen shied away from tasks having to do with soldiers or the fort. Usually Jensen would help Christian dress out his kills, keeping the hides to tan along with the waste from the carcasses. By the time the healer was finished, there was very little to carry away for the scavengers.

They settled into a routine. The men were settling into their temporary home, and with each other. Summer had finally come to Colorado. Steven and Christian would often find Jensen with his sketchpad basking in the sun as though he could save the warmth for later.

Feeling the need to clear his head and reconnect to the spirits, Jensen had built a small sweat lodge further along the river from their camp. Jensen planned to tell Steven and Christian he was going to be gone for a few days when they were sitting around the fire after supper. Working from habit, his mind already checking off what he needed to take with him, he dropped a few more things in the pot hanging over the fire, satisfied that it was ready to simmer until evening.

Hearing horses he looked up from the skin he was working thinking Christian and Steven was returning to camp. His body went still as he saw three other men with them all dressed in Army uniforms. Jensen could feel his body trembling … Wanting to run. He ruthlessly squashed his emotions using the lessons he’d learn on the march to Oklahoma to appear steady and calm.

“Jenny, boy, where are ya?” Jensen could hear a slight slur in Christian’s voice as he called out. “Hope you got a little extra in the pot. We brought some buddies over for supper.”

Jensen carefully rolled the skin before looking across the camp. All the men’s faces were flush with alcohol, their eyes bright with mischief.

“Yes, there is plenty. Who are your friends?” He asked quietly.

“These are our friends, Privates Riley Smith and James Dolan, along with Sergeant Jonah Mason. Really good guys.” Christian gave the soldiers a lopsided grin. “Boys, this is Jensen White Crow Ackles.”

Jensen stiffened at Christian giving the soldiers his full name, but gave them a polite greeting before turning to the pot hanging over the fire. Having turned away, Jensen didn’t see the soldiers’ reaction to the mixture of white and Indian names from someone who was obviously white.

Conversation around the fire remained in neutral territory until Private Riley produced a bottle from his saddlebags. Jensen came back into the firelight after taking the leftovers away from camp just in time to see coffee cups being filled with whiskey. He controlled the shudder that passed through his body at the memories of the rancid whiskey breath of the man that attacked him in Illinois. Blinking away the pictures rolling through his mind, Jensen stowed their utensils back in the pack saddle.

Unrolling the hide he’d been working on earlier, Jensen started where he’d left off scraping and smoothing the antelope hide. Pleased with his progress, Jensen was startled out of the meditative state he’d dropped into as he worked the leather by loud voices coming toward him.

“Dammit, Smith, leave him be.” Jensen heard the one called Sergeant Mason yell.

He looked up to see the tousled haired man coming toward him with a cup in his hand.

“Hey! Jack! ... Wait … John … Cox … Whatever … Carlson says you won’t drink with us.”

“RILEY! That’s not what I said!” Steven shouted after the tipsy soldier.

Jensen froze, his eyes never leaving the inebriated man.

“Steven is right. I do not drink alcohol.” Jensen kept his voice calm.

Riley plopped to ground without spilling a drop from his cup.

“You don’t like us?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I do not know you.”

“You never come to the fort with Christian and Steven.”

“I do not have business that takes me there.” Jensen tried to keep his voice bland.

“Kane says you’re some kind of medicine man.”

Jensen listened carefully for any derision in Private Smith’s voice, but could find none. He started to relax.

“Kane seems to say a lot of things.” Green eyes glared across the fire.

Cheeks flushed with color and eyes glazed with the effects of the alcohol looked back at him unrepentant. His attention was drawn back to the soldier sprawled on the ground next to him.

“How come you got all them names?”

“To honor both my white and Tsalagi families.” Jensen started to relax when Riley rolled over to peer up into his face.

“Tsalagi?”

“You don’t sound like you’re from Oklahoma?”

“I have only been in the west since January.” He hedged.

“Just visitin?”

“No. The west is my home now.”

“It’s just you’ve got this accent … I just can’t put my finger on it.” His voice trailed off.

When Jensen turned to answer, he saw Private Riley Smith had passed out.

_~@~@~@~_

Christian and Steven had protested loudly when Jensen told them of his plans to leave for several days. They offered to travel with him, but Jensen stubbornly maintained he needed to go alone. Christian had been quietly relieved that Jensen did not push for him to participate in the sweat. The last time the old men in Tellasi had dragged him to a sweat he’d had visions of Jensen lying bloody on the ground as a faceless man beat him, Steven trying to get to the injured man.

The rollercoaster of emotions each man experienced during night ranged from bruisingly rough and possessive to slow torture. All three men carried the marks and overused muscles as the day started in silence and remained so as Steven wrapped around Christian from behind as they watched Strong Heart carry Jensen away.

When Jensen returned the evening of the third day, his demeanor was so still you could forget he was standing next to you. He seemed more at peace with himself.  He became a more equal partner in the relationship surprising both Christian and Steven when he argued or got quietly stubborn.

Christian and Steven continued to invite the three soldiers to their camp so White Crow eventually relaxed with the three soldiers though he still would not enter the fort.

When the people that lived outside the fort found out White Crow was a healer, many of the complaints they would have taken to the Army surgeon, they began bringing to him instead. Jensen was putting the finishing touches on a winter coat using wolf and coyote pelts one of the Cheyenne women, whose husband worked as a scout, gave him when he treated her son.

White Crow became a familiar face in the small village of tipis where the families of the personnel it took to run an installation the size of the Bent’s Fort lived. It started with drying a little girl’s tears when she’d wondered from her camp captivated by a butterfly until she got the river’s edge. Hearing the sniffles when he’d led Strong Heart to water, he’d spoken quietly in his raspy voice to the little girl. She didn’t seem to understand English so he’d started running through dialects he knew with no luck. He finally tried Hand Talk.

The child’s smile was sunny that she could finally talk to the scarred pretty man. She knew her mother would be cross and worried that she had wondered away from their camp, but she was enjoying riding the horse too much to worry about her punishment.

_~@~@~@~_

Dark eyes watched from the wall of the fort at the handsome young man dressed in buckskins as he moved through the civilian camp. Dr. Jeffrey Morgan had heard gossip about the man the children called Pretty Scar. Morgan knew he camped across the river with the dark-haired hunter and the blond writer.

While Steven Carlson and Christian Kane could often be found sharing a beer or whiskey in the bar with several of the soldiers, _‘Pretty Scar’_ never joined them. He’d pumped Kane and Carlson’s friends for information, but all they could tell him was his name and that he’d been raised Cherokee.

His attention was drawn back to the village when one of the elders approached Jensen. They Hand Talked for a few minutes before they moved across the village and Morgan saw Jensen pull off his shirt and point to a place on his chest.

Pulling out a spy glass he gazed at the markings on the young man’s skin. His breath caught as he read the story of Jensen’s life on his skin before he stepped from his sight. Hearing the sentry approach, Morgan slipped the spyglass back in his pocket and went to find whether Kane or Carlson were in the fort.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven rode back to camp both confused and intrigued by the conversation he’d just had with the fort’s surgeon, Dr. Jeffrey Morgan. He really needed to talk to Jensen and Christian, but they’d left early on a hunt. Still absorbed in his thoughts, he was surprised when he heard a horse nicker in greeting. Looking up he saw Strong Heart coming to greet Belle.

Making haste to settle the mare, Steven went in search of Jensen … Whom he found coming out of the river like Venus from the sea. Watching the sun shimmer off the rivulets of water running down the toned and tanned body had Steven forgetting all about Dr. Jeffrey Morgan.

His prick was so hard he was afraid to move knowing the friction of his buckskins would have him ejaculating like a green boy. Steven watched as Jensen moved toward him with all the grace of a puma stalking prey.

“See something that makes your blood race?” The husky voice whispered in Cherokee.

Steven could only nod as he felt nimble fingers on the laces of his buckskin pants. He hardly dared breath as his wet and naked lover landed on his knees on the sandy river bank, his beautiful mouth closing over his erection. The hitch in his breath and the twitch of muscles were the only indications of Jensen’s ministrations. Blue eyes slid closed as he enjoyed the wet warmth of the talented mouth and tongue sliding over his prick.

His eyes flew open in surprise as his orgasm ripped through his body. It was only when the adrenaline started to fade he realized what had triggered his body’s response.

The abrupt intrusion of Jensen’s fingers into his anus had overwhelmed his senses. When his senses finally returned, Steven could feel himself attempting to harden again as he felt Jensen sliding in and out of his body from behind. He thought it a noble attempt until Jensen’s cock brushed against something that sent his body once again rushing toward orgasm. Jensen pulled him back against his chest once again hitting the same spot, sending Steven into darkness.

When Steven woke, he’d been cleaned up, his buckskins re-laced, his head pillowed on Jensen’s jacket. Sitting up, the smells coming from the cook fire caused his stomach to complain the passage of time since his last meal. Getting up he looked around to see Jensen standing at their makeshift work table sorting through the plants he was constantly gathering. He saw Bronco standing with Strong Heart and Belle, but didn’t see Christian.

Wanting to continue the peaceful mood leftover from their afternoon tumble by the river, Steven came to Jensen from behind wrapping his arms around the slim waist and burying his nose in the sun streaked hair.

“Good nap?” The damaged voice softly teased.

“Very.” Steven continued to nuzzle until he found skin.

His efforts were rewarded as Jensen bent his head to allow Steven access to his neck. Hands roamed over the muscled chest until they touched something slick.

“What the …!?”

He turned the younger man around. Ointment usually meant injury. Jensen had not said anything about being injured, and he had not noticed anything out of place as he’d watched him come out of the river.

Calloused fingertips pressed against his lips to silence his words.

“It is nothing … A continuation of my life’s journey.” Jensen soothed.

Steven’s eyes dropped to the fresh marks on Jensen’s chest. The flower from the Trail … The one they called the Cherokee Rose. There was a feather … No a quill as he might use in his writing. The wolf tracks he had seen on Christian’s chest that told others Christian belonged to the Wolf Clan. The last symbol, that was integrated with the other two, he had no knowledge of and his questing eyes caught the calm green of Jensen’s.

“It is of my own design … A symbol of each of us twined together as are we.”

The blond startled as Christian seemed to appear out of the shadows.

“I showed Jensen how much I like the design while you were napping.” Christian purred as he pulled Steven close enough to thoroughly kiss him as they sandwiched Jensen between them.

A challenging whinny from Bronco had the men moving apart. They all made sure their weapons were close at hand as they waited to see who was riding toward their camp. Jensen stiffened at the flash of the setting sun off brass buttons as the Army officer rode slowly into their camp as though unsure of his welcome.

Jensen started to turn away only to be stopped by Steven’s hand on his arm.

“You must come to terms with this if we are to be around the fort. You cannot judge them all on the merits of those that forced you from your home.” Steven insisted. “I think we need to listen to what he has to say.”

“That’s the doc isn’t it?” Christian asked. His shoulder pressed to Jensen’s back in support.

“Yes. He singled me out at the saloon today with an interesting proposition that I think goes along with the man whose face Jensen drew.”

“I will listen.” Jensen stated flatly as his eyes never left the man stepping down from his horse.

Jensen straightened to this full height as the man’s dark eyes never left him. Dropping his reins to ground tie the stocky bay, the soldier stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Steven stepped forward to keep the moment from getting awkward.

“Doctor Morgan, I didn’t expect you so soon. I have not yet had the opportunity to speak with Jensen and Christian.” With a hand on his elbow he directed Morgan toward their seating by the fire, and away from Jensen. He wasn’t sure he liked the way the man practically drank Jensen down with his dark-eyed stare. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“What? Yes … Of course. I can even supply a little Irish.” His smile was charming as he pulled a silver flask from inside his jacket.

Christian grabbed cups from the table before he moved toward the fire, Jensen moving quietly behind him. He accepted a cup of coffee, but refused the liquor. The doctor watched the interaction between the three with great interest.

Morgan watched the three men move around each other in a dance that spoke of familiarity, trust, and something he couldn’t put his finger on. The looks and touches … The silent communication … Reminded him … They reminded him of his grandparents. His parents’ marriage had been one of convenience, a joining of old families, their money and reputation, but his grandparents had been a love match. These three handsome young men were in love with each other!

His realization almost caused him to drop his cup. It did cause him to lose control of his tongue.

“You’re sodomites!?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

Their reaction was instantaneous as Jensen and Christian moved in front of Steven to protect as hands landed on weapons. Not wanting to compound the foolishness of his blurted words, Jeffrey held his hands out in the most non-threatening way he could remember.

Jensen didn’t know the word the man called Morgan used, but he reacted to Christian’s reaction and moved into protective mode should the need arise. When the doctor set down his cup and spread his hands, he asked Christian in Tsalagi to explain.

Christian’s explanation had Jensen tightening his hand on the horn handle of his knife. Steven had explained how the whites ostracized, beat, and even killed those who loved members of the same sex. He feared this Dr. Jeffrey Morgan was one of them. He looked at Christian and Steven while watching Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

“Do we need to leave this place since this man knows of our relationship?” He continued to speak in Tsalagi hoping the doctor didn’t understand.

“We should listen. I think he has information about the man you’ve been waiting to appear.” Steven soothed.

Jensen looked to Christian for his reaction.

“I agree. Let’s hear him out. Maybe he’s just bad mannered.” Christian gave them a crooked grin. “We’ll keep an eye on him for a couple days and if it looks like he’s puttin’ together a lynch mob, it won’t take us but a couple hours or less to get away from this place.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Morgan who was getting a little nervous about being talked about in a Native language he didn’t understand.

“I mean no harm, or disrespect. I know many tribes hold the two-spirit as sacred … I’ve never seen one with two partners before, and it surprised me … That’s all.” He hoped his tone would placate the three men, but the narrow eyed looks they were giving him was saying otherwise.

“You know of two-spirits?” Jensen’s tone was curious.

“Only a little, but I’ve come to talk to you about a different matter.”

The men all settled to listen to what the Army doctor had to say.

_~@~@~@~_

Jeffrey Morgan ended up staying for supper and beyond. Instead of making him ride back to the fort in the dark, they had fixed a palette for him under the shelter of the lean-to after settling his bay gelding in with their horses. No one spoke a word about Morgan’s revelations until he rode back to the fort the next morning.

They sat silent for a time as they digested all the things that Dr. Morgan had told them. He was not really a member of the Army, but worked for the government recruiting people for mapping expeditions across the land newly acquired by the government. Colonel John Fremont would be using Bent’s Fort as a base of operation for his expeditions.

Morgan had recognized the picture Jensen had drawn as the mountain man, Kit Carson. Word had it that the mountain man would be coming to the rendezvous that would be happening at the fort in less than a month.

The doctor wanted them for the jobs they were doing at the fort. Christian and Jensen would hunt for the expedition, plus the added benefits of Jensen’s healing skills, while Steven would document the trip and their findings. If they accepted Morgan’s offer, they would have to travel to Missouri to meet with Fremont and equip for the expedition.

Seeing Steven and Christian’s eyes light with excitement as they listened to Dr. Morgan speak of plans for the expedition, Jensen knew they would be accompanying the man even though the man’s attention made him uncomfortable. There was something dark about the doctor’s spirit.

_~@~@~@~_

Jensen’s wariness of Morgan and the other soldiers at the fort didn’t wane as he watched the doctor’s interactions with his partners and others. Many times he’d come from the Native village to find the man standing on the wall … Watching. Shortly after that discovery he used the excuse of the horses needing better grass to move their camp further along the river … Making sure it was out of sight of the both the village and the fort.

Strangers arriving at the fort daily increased his wariness though he was mindful of the types of pictures Steven needed for his articles, he would get close enough to make his drawings, but did his best to remain outside anyone’s notice. He’d also been making maps of the area since Dr. Morgan’s offer to travel with Fremont’s expedition.

It exhausted him trying to think one step ahead, but Steven and Christian were everything to him and he had no intention of being caught unprepared should the glint in Dr. Morgan’s eyes prove to cause them harm in the future.

_~@~@~@~_

The mountain man rendezvous was in full swing. Rough and tumble, loud and brash, the area around the gates of the fort were full of tipis, tents and even a few covered wagons. Steven felt there weren’t enough hours in the day to talk to everyone and record their amazing stories.

Jensen was his shadow, his charcoal drawings making lifelike scenarios to accompany the written exploits of these fascinating men and women.

Refusing to change his ways, Jensen dressed as Steven had first seen him … In breech clout, leggings and moccasins, the only remnants of the deprivations of the **_Trail Where We Cried_** being the scars of the attack in Illinois and his newly healed tattoo.

The eyes of these strangers who were wise in the ways of the wilderness and the Natives would roam over the tanned and tattooed chest, reading the life story of White Crow. They would nod sagely, give Steven a curious look then start into their story telling.

The first evening Christian joined them eyes wide … Taking in everything. Just as Steven was sure there was going to be trouble because he’d felt Jensen and Christian go on alert. When it looked like a bull of man, he only knew as Jon was about to say something, Jon’s petite Native wife spoke quietly in his ear making his mouth gape, eyes widen and Jensen blush.

Jensen had given the woman a grateful smile before ducking his head over his sketch pad. This action caused Christian to settle back on his heels and accept another splash of whiskey in his cup leaving Steven confused. He was quite fluent in Cherokee and was rapidly learning Cheyenne, but he had no inkling what had changed the man’s attitude.

The episode was forgotten as the stories started flowing along with the whiskey and home brew that Jon’s woman, Sweet Grass Weaver, kept pouring in everyone’s cups. By the end of the evening, Jensen helped him and Christian onto their horses and was just getting ready to swing up on Strong Heart’s back, when Steven saw Jon and Sweet Grass Weaver approach.

They spoke quietly using Hand Talk and a dialect that Steven’s alcohol fuddled brain couldn’t translate. He looked over at Christian, but saw the blue/grey eyes dancing with amusement as he watched Jensen with the couple. When Steven started to ask what was going on, a quick shake of the dark head had him snapping his mouth shut. He turned back in time to see Jensen lay his hands on their chests then over Sweet Grass Weaver’s abdomen. The lilt of Jensen’s quiet voice made the hair on Steven’s arms stand up as the air seemed to crackle with energy. Jensen’s voice stopped and his hands dropped. With a small smile, he began to turn back to the horses when Sweet Grass Weaver handed him a package.

Thanking them with a smile, he swung up on Strong Heart and started for their camp, Bronco and Belle following closely behind.

_~@~@~@~_

From where he sat at the end of the bar, Christian had a clear view of everyone coming into the saloon. Riley and James were on guard duty and Jonah was working on the monthly inventory so he sipped his beer half expecting to see Steven come through the door. The writer had shipped off a large package to his publisher, but had disappeared afterwards, probably to look to see if there were any of the mountain men he had not yet relieved of their life stories.

He was getting lost in his thoughts of Jensen and Steven when movement pulled him back to the present. Dr. Jeffrey Dean Morgan strode through the door like it was his and let his gaze roam over the occupants of the room. Answering greetings from the other customers, he brushed them off and headed for Christian. Leaning against the bar so he faced the hunter, Morgan waited until the bartender poured his double and left before he turned his attention back to Christian.

Before the doctor could speak, Christian threw down a gauntlet.

“What’s yer game, Doc?”

Morgan seemed momentarily taken aback before his expression smoothed.

“I don’t follow.” He answered smoothly.

Christian chuffed out a breath into his beer. So, cat and mouse would be the game. The doc wanted Christian to show his cards.

“All these men and women who are a hell of a lot more seasoned in this wilderness than me, Steven or even White Crow, yet I haven’t seen you talk to any of them about this supposed expedition with this Fremont fella.”

Looking chagrined at having to explain himself Morgan threw back his drink and signaled for another. He didn’t answer until the bartender once again left them alone.

“It’s imperative that this expedition be successful. People are soon going to be moving across the country in droves, and we’ve been tasked with finding the easiest routes for these wagon loads of families and their possessions to get from Missouri to California.” The doctor paused to take another sip from his glass.

“You mean white people? You mean doing to the Indians out here like you did the Five Tribes back east. Round ‘em up and shove ‘em onto reservations.” Christian growled.

Morgan still had the good grace to look away embarrassed at Christian’s accusation. He straightened and looked back at the dark-haired man.

“In the long run, yes. The Indians will, in all likelihood, be displaced by the arrival of settlers from back east.”

“Ya still haven’t answered the big question, Doc.” Christian pushed. “Why us?”

“Because White Crow is two-spirit and you are his partners.” Morgan practically hissed.

Christian’s eyes narrowed as an idea began to take shape. He sat his mug gently on the bar before walking out without a word to the doctor.

_~@~@~@~_

Bronco dancing and kicking made Christian realize how tense he was over Morgan’s disclosure. Riding past the village toward their camp, he was torn about what to do with the information. Feeling both jealous and protective, Christian decided he would stay silent about the ulterior motives of the Army, but try to discourage Steven and Jensen from wanting to go on the expedition.

He groaned inwardly. He’d been so excited about the expedition he’d have a hard time coming up with reasons for not going that was not going to make Steven and Jensen suspicious. Christian was jerked out of his thoughts when Bronco’s sudden stop caused him to lurch against his saddle horn.

Watching him from the other side of the river was his black wolf spirit guide standing between White Crow’s white stallion and Steven’s lynx.

His chin dropped to his chest, defeated. There was no way he could keep this information to himself. He couldn’t let the people he loved walk into this situation blind.

Late in the night when they lay sweat covered and sated in their nest of blankets and furs, Christian buried his left hand in the long brown hair streaked with red and blond where it rested on his abdomen … His right arm wrapped around Steven. Taking a deep breath, he told his partners about his afternoon encounter with Dr. Jeffrey Morgan.

Silence filled their shelter when Christian’s words stopped. He was about to say something else just to break the silence when Jensen’s words broke the silence.

“We should go.”

Christian wanted to jerk upright in surprise but the two men’s weight kept him pinned.

“But …”

“He’s right.” Steven agreed.

“But …”

“I cannot stand aside and watch what happened to the Eastern Tsalagi happen out here without attempting to do something about it.” Jensen turned his head so he could see Christian and Steven, his cheek resting on the muscled abdomen. “We can spread the word through the tribes as we travel. What they choose to do after that is on the heads of their councils, but they will at least have a warning.”

“I don’t see the newspaper having a lot of sympathy for the Indians …” Steven added. “But there must be someone we can give the information to that will use it to help them.”

“We may not have much luck with that if the Tribes decide fightin’ is better than givin’ up.” Christian’s grip tightened on Jensen’s hair causing him to squirm. “I don’t like the way Morgan looks at any of us … Reminds me of coyote … Always lookin’ to take somethin’ not his.”

Jensen moved up to rest on Christian’s other shoulder.

“He will try to be sly like coyote for he will not want to jeopardize the plans that are being made by his superiors. I understand the white man’s prison is not a good place. If the men he answers to are as manipulative as the doctor, he would surely suffer dire consequences should he fail in their mission.”

“It may very well be all that keeps him honest.” Steven agreed.

“We’ll be watchin’.” Christian vowed.

Their minds settled and bodies languid, they drifted to sleep.

_~@~@~@~_

Jeffrey Dean Morgan watched as the crowd parted before Kane. The hunter had a presence that belied his stature, and caused men to turn to him for leadership. He’d be a valuable commodity in any group, and it was imperative that he keep the man on the expedition. He knew White Crow would not travel without Steven or Kane. He would have to step lightly for the men he worked for would not be so forgiving if their plans were disrupted because he couldn’t control himself around the three handsome men. His proclivities were not well known, but the men who had approached him knew more than any living soul about his sometimes less than savory entertainments, one of which had ended with the younger son of a wealthy family dying by his hands. His employers had paid the family a fat purse to keep his reputation intact. They would not forgive another such transgression, and with the right motivation he had no doubt Kane or White Crow would without compunction end his existence.

Feeling the nervous sweat run down his spine, he tossed back the rest of his whiskey and went in search of one of the whores who had not yet been infected with the pox to satiate his needs for now.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven was thrilled when Jensen had built them a semi-permanent camp close to the fort. Being in one place gave his mail time to catch up with him and to open a somewhat regular correspondence with his friend, Thomas Welling at the **_New York Evening Post_**.

William Cullen Bryant had been a supporter of President Jackson, but the **_Indian Removal Act_** and the treatment of the Native population had begun to turn the newspaper man’s opinion. Finding out that Steven was being courted by the advance man for Colonel John Fremont had Bryant near euphoria. He was already supporting Fremont’s proposed expeditions to map the new western territories … Having one of his own riding stirrup to stirrup with Colonel Fremont was more than he could have ever hoped. In return for insisting Steven travel with Fremont, Carlson had asked for information on the men involved including Dr. Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

As Steven sat reading Thomas’ missive, he felt a spike of fear then a rage so hot he expected the pages in his hand to turn to ash. Much of Steven’s success as a journalist was in the way he could turn a phrase, but the real secret to his success was his ability to be so unobtrusive that people forgot he was in their midst. He’d known people like Morgan in the past. Men so jaded by life and their experiences that they were constantly on the hunt for the next thing that titillated them out of their ever present state of ennui. The sketch of the young man Dr. Morgan had accidentally killed held a strong resemblance to Jensen.

He recognized the names of the men who had cleaned up the results of Morgan’s indiscretion … The barons of industry on the east coast, looking to the west to increase their fortunes and power. No doubt the land surveys that Fremont would carry back to Washington would go toward planning the cities and railroads of the not so distant future, giving no thought to the native populations they will be displacing. Carefully setting the file back in its oilskin, Steven made plans to speak with his partners. He was sure between them they should be able to keep Jeffrey Dean Morgan in check.

_~@~@~@~_

By the end of July, the mountain men had left the fort, save for Kit Carson. He soon joined the ranks of the hunters for the fort, and as August turned its first week, Christian was singing praises of the quiet natured Carson. Before the month won out, he had risen to the position of lead hunter.

On securing his position, Carson had watched for an opportunity to seek a favor from the young men with whom he’d developed an abiding friendship. Christian was a most agreeable young man if you walked on his good side. Steven was an apt listener as befitted his occupation, and White Crow was just about the most confounding man he’d met. A deeply spiritual and serious man, he also possessed a wicked sense of humor that few were privileged to witness. It was that healer’s heart he hoped to appeal to as he rode past the village and into their camp. Kit looked around the camp as Christian approached to take his horse.

“Welcome. We’ve been expectin’ ya.” He grinned at the older man.

He threw Christian a confused look.

“Jen … White Crow said ya were comin’. Get yourself a plate … I’ll take care of yer horse.”

Carson nodded warily. Rumors were the young white man that had been raised Cherokee was ‘special’. By the time he got to the fire, a plate of hot food and cup of hot coffee awaited him along with quiet greetings from Steven and White Crow.

They were all at ease, enjoying their after dinner coffee with a little Irish from Carson’s flask when he came to the point of his visit.

“Gentlemen, I’ve come to ask a favor.” He started, looking from the depths of his coffee cup then up at the three men.

“Yes.” White Crow said quietly.

“What … Well … But … You haven’t heard what I’m about to ask.” Carson sputtered.

Christian and Steven hid their grins behind their cups. Kit Carson did not like to be taken by surprise. Jensen’s face was open and sincere.

“Doesn’t matter. We just need the details.”

Carson’s shoulders slumped as he relaxed.

“I need you to get my eldest daughter from her grandparents. Their tribe wanders to the Green River valley close to Jim Bridger’s Trading Post.” He handed them a rudimentary map he’d drawn from memory. “The baby is staying with her grandparents, but I want my three year-old, Adeline with me now that I’m settled.”

“If we ride hard, we should be able to make the trip in four to six weeks.” Christian and Jensen exchanged a look over the fire.

Steven held his peace. He wasn’t sure what was going on besides the request to retrieve a little girl, so he would wait until Kit returned to the fort to question them. As Carson mounted his horse, they could see the relief on his face. When he was sure the hunter was out of earshot, Steven turned to the other two.

“You want to explain to me what just happened?” Steven asked.

“Carson has just given us a perfect reason to leave the fort and get out from under Morgan’s scrutiny without raising his ire.” Jensen explained. “Since you committed us to this expeditionary force he constantly watches from the wall when he is free of his duties.”

Steven was shocked. He knew Morgan was being something of an annoyance, but he had not realized the man’s behavior was becoming obsessive. They went about their usual routine, but at the same time began breaking down their camp and leaving their belongings in a shallow cave near the village.

They’d been traveling steadily north for three days before Dr. Morgan realized they had disappeared.

_~@~@~@~_

They kept the horses at a ground eating jog, stopping only to rest at mid-day and when fear of damaging their legs in the evening twilight made it impossible to continue. Climbing in altitude slowed both men and animals as the air thinned, but they were all soon pared down muscle and sinew as they pushed on toward Bridger’s Trading Post.

Evenings would find Jensen making quick sketches of what he had seen during the day as Steven made notes and Christian attended to their gear, keeping leather oiled and stitched in the dry mountain air.

Many mornings they would wake to find Jensen up nursing a cup of coffee watching them, the expression in his green eyes confusing Steven and scaring Christian. When they came together in their furs, their lovemaking mirrored their trip … Hard, fast and bruising. Steven finally questioned Jensen about his not sleeping … He shrugged, and went back to sorting the herbs he’d gathered from the edge of the watering hole where they were camped.

“Jensen …” Steven said through gritted teeth.

Jensen turned back to Steven, a soft look on his face.

“If I could explain I would.”

He pulled a book from his satchel that was different than the one he drew in for Steven’s stories. Steven opened it to where Jensen had left his pencil. The drawing was so realistic he felt as if he touched the paper he would feel warm skin instead cool fibers. Men arranged around a tree in a parody of the May pole dance snatched his attention until he recognized their faces among the men around the tree. Blue eyes wide, he looked up at Jensen. The younger man merely shrugged.

“I image we will find out what it means when we find Carson’s in-laws.” Jensen answered solemnly.

“What keeps you awake at night, Jensen?” Steven’s voice was quiet

“We will be tested … Who we are …” The green eyes were full of grief when they met Steven’s. “What we are in the world and to each other. We will be forever changed.”

“But I’m not an Indian …” Steven started.

Jensen’s brow furrowed at the words.

“You are the beloved of a two-spirit medicine man, and a Tsalagi warrior. It matters not what name we were given when we were born. We are the sum of our teachings and what we have learned on our road.”

The green that was dull with grief now blazed with anger. Jensen grabbed his knife from his belt and slashed his arm. Steven was horrified as his arm became coated with his blood.

“We are all this color.” He wiped the blade on his leggings and with his spine stiff moved toward his bedroll.

Steven started to follow only to be stopped by softly growled words.

“Wouldn’t do that just now.”

“But …”

“You really wanna whack that hornets’ nest again?”

Christian straightened from where he’d been leaning against a tree.

“No, but he doesn’t understand.”

Steven heard the whine in his voice and turned to meet Christian’s eyes. Their flat grey color signaled to the writer that the half-breed Cherokee was not happy.

“That’s where yer wrong.” Christian hunkered down to tend the fire. There are tribes like the Cherokee that shun the two-spirit, but to most of the tribes out here they’re special … _‘Touched’_ by the spirits. Being a favorite of the spirits is not an easy path to walk. You of all people should know that.” He arched an eyebrow as he looked up at Steven. “White Crow …” Christian emphasized Jensen’s Tsalagi name, “Has loved and been committed to us since his fourteenth birthday. The question one should ask oneself is …” Christian’s eyes caught Steven’s. “Why are we here?”

Christian’s voice had sounded so much like one of Steven’s college professors that he’d been lulled … His mind relaxing at the soothing rhythm of the gravel voice until Christian’s words sank into his brain.

 _*Why are you here?*_ Rattled through his brain like a gravel in a bucket.

Why was he here? He should have gone back east when the Cherokee reached Tahlequah  … Delivered his stories in person to William Cullen Bryant, spent time with old friends, perhaps visited his family until time to join Fremont’s expedition. He could have returned to the world of the fine clothes, food he never saw until a chef plated it for his enjoyment with the perfect wine, genteel company in a setting with all the creature comforts.

Why had he followed Jensen? Why had Christian? Christian was part Indian. He should understand better than anyone. Feeling trapped and uncomfortable at the turn his thoughts were taking, he snapped back at Christian.

“Why are you here? Why are you even out here in the wilderness? You’re college educated … You could be anywhere … Doing anything? You were the one who was all rudeness when you found out what Jensen is … What I am.”

“I am here because I am the beloved of a two-spirit medicine man, and yer right, for a moment I let the influence of the hidebound ideas of the tribal elders rule my thoughts.” Christian bowed his head. “I had been wrestlin’ with my dreams for a couple days before y’all rode into town so I was already riled. Bein’ with y’all … Even with all the hassles … Morgan and that whole mess … I’m more at home in my own skin than I have been since I came home from college.” He paused gathering his thoughts. “We’ve got kin in New Orleans. I almost stayed there, but somethin’ kept pushin’ me to go home … Now I know why.” He shrugged and stirred the stew simmering over the fire.

Instead of settling his swirling thoughts, Christian’s words had only added to his irritation.

_~@~@~@~_

The ride the next day was quiet … Each man lost in his own thoughts. Jensen rode out ahead of Christian and Steven, enjoying the freedom of the being away from the curious eyes of the people coming and going from the fort, the expectations of the Natives in the village and Dr. Morgan’s obsession.

As he relaxed his dreams had become more detailed and vivid. He recognized the ceremony in his dreams from the descriptions he’d heard from one of the Cheyenne elders at the fort. The outside world would think of it as proving themselves worthy to be given the care of an elder’s grandchild, but Jensen could see the trial was to test him, test Steven and Christian and their relationship … To move them forward. They would come out the other side of the ceremony truly whole or shattered beyond repair.

Though he had been with Steven longer, he was closer to Christian. There were no half measures with Christian. When the man gave himself over to the situation and his feelings he gave everything … His heart … His body … And most importantly his soul.

Steven had ever held a part of himself back from them. Jensen was surprised each morning to find Steven still in their blankets, feeling him always looking east like this was just fulfilling a fantasy and soon he would put away his fantasy life and return to the real world.

His dreams would not show him the outcome. As much as he would like to rail against the spirits he knew the only one who could determine their future was Steven. Pushing his worries away, White Crow settled into his saddle, letting Strong Heart’s smooth jog rock him into a relaxed state moving him into a place between the worlds.

_~@~@~@~_

Keeping a watch of their surroundings, Christian also kept a close watch on Jensen, who became more White Crow as they moved deeper into the wilderness. Away from the fort the healer had relaxed as the stress of living around the fort slipped away. They’d sat together before Steven had risen this morning looking at the pictures he’d drawn from his dreams.

Knowing he was looking at a picture of a Sun Dance ceremony, the two men quietly discussed what this might mean to their relationship. Both worried at the real possibility of losing Steven either through his refusal to participate or not being able to handle the intense spiritual nature of the ceremony.

Not sure how Jensen would take a rejection of someone he’d loved since he was fourteen and had been with for more than a year, Christian now worried on two fronts. If he knew the same thoughts were running through Jensen’s mind he would have given a disbelieving snort. He’d loved and lost before, but from what he knew of Jensen this was the first time he’d been in love or in a relationship as his training in the healing and spiritual traditions of his tribe had left little time for the puppy love that built the callouses on your heart against the crushing pain of the loss of real love. Having been abandoned by one fiancé for someone with more money, Christian’s heart could stand the pain of losing Steven. He wasn’t so sure about the tenderhearted Jensen.

By unspoken agreement the three men decided to live in the moment and let the future take care of itself.

_~@~@~@~_

The last week of August they entered the Green River Valley in what would one day be called Wyoming. Using the rough map Jensen had copied from Carson, they headed toward the trading post operated by Jim Bridger.

It was moving toward evening when they arrived at the outpost. Smoke rose invitingly from the chimney as they tied their horses to the hitching post. Christian shouldered his way past Jensen so he was the first to enter. He wanted a quick lay of the land before he let Jensen and Steven through the door.

The first thing they saw was a couple of toddlers playing in front of a hearth where a Native woman was stirring a kettle. They stopped inside the door, so as to not appear threatening.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am …” Christian started quietly signing as he spoke.

Three sets of dark eyes turned toward them. The woman smiled.

“Welcome. Come in.” She greeted in a lilting voice with only slight pauses as though carefully choosing the right words. “My husband is tending the animals … May I help you with something?”

“Some supplies and directions for a start.” Christian continued with a smile as he watched the woman’s eyes reading the story his body told her.

Once away from Bent’s Fort, White Crow had reverted to his customary summer attire of breech clout, leggings and moccasins. Christian being out from under the scrutiny of white society and his mother’s genteel sensibilities loosened the reins on his desires and joined in the shedding of layers. Feeling the elements against his skin had opened doors in his mind he never realized existed. He watched those same eyes skip over Steven to Jensen, and saw them widen in surprise.

A man’s voice interrupted the silence assessment.

“Saw the horses out front. Who …?”A buckskin clad man stopped alongside the woman. “Howdy gents, Jim Bridger,” he walked toward them hand extended.

Christian continued as their point man.

“Christian Kane. This here’s Jensen White Crow and Steven Carlson. A Mister Kit Carson sent us your way, said you could direct us to where his wife’s kin were camped for the summer so we could fetch Adeline and take her to Bent’s Fort where he’s found work as a hunter for the Army.”

His speech ended just as Bridger finished shaking Steven’s hand.

“Let’s go take care of your horses. It’s too late to start for the camp today. A good supper and night’s rest and we’ll get you on your way at first light.”

They stabled the horses, grabbed their saddle bags and headed for the small river near the trading post to wash off the trail dust, anticipating a bath after their business was concluded.

By the time they returned, Bridger had their supplies ready and steaming bowls of stew and fry bread on the table. They exchanged news of Carson, what was happening around Bent’s Fort, and passed on the information they had about the government expedition to map out the Territories it had purchased from France. Bridger pinpointed on their map where they were most likely to find the Arapahoe village and looking between Christian and Jensen told them of rumors of a gathering of the tribes in the area. A brief nod was the only indication they gave that they understood Bridger’s reference.

Steven had been making notes and missed the exchange.

_~@~@~@~_

Flush with excitement at being able to talk with the legendary frontiersman, Steven was aware of little around him after he saw Bridger. He’d been rapidly making notes about the trading post, Bridger’s wife and children along with descriptions of the man himself.

After his wife had taken their supper dishes, Bridger pushed back from the table, relaxing as he pulled out his pipe and pouch. His wife returned with a bottle of whiskey, and left the men to their conversation.

Bridger splashed whiskey in their coffee and as he struck the match for his pipe, Steven started to ask questions. The reporter in him refused to allow such an opportunity to pass.

So engrossed in Bridger’s tales, he barely noticed when Christian and Jensen excused themselves. Finally, it was Bridger himself that brought the interview to a halt.

“If y’all’s leavin’ at dawn you’d best be findin’ your bedroll.”

The blond head snapped up from his notebook.

“But …” Seeing the look in the fontiersman’s eyes his protest died on his lips. “You’re right of course. I did not mean to keep you so long from your rest.”

Steven extended his hand as he stood. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Bridger.”

“It’s Jim, and I always enjoy tellin’ a good story. You boys have quite the road ahead of you.” He gave Steven a wink as he followed him to the door. “Wife’ll give you a good feed ‘fore you take off in the morning. Restful sleep to you, Steven Carlson.”

The waxing moon lit the way to where they had spread their bedrolls out of site of the buildings. Steven quickly shucked off his outer layers and crawled into the nest the other two had made. The smell of freshly washed skin and sex filled his mind with regret and his prick with blood as he realized what he’d missed in his excitement over interviewing Bridger.

He turned his back to his lovers to keep his need to himself as the emotional part of his brain chastised him for allowing his fears to rule his relationship with the two men. Failing to quiet his racing thoughts, he curled into a ball of misery until he felt an arm wrap around his waist and pull him against a warm naked body. His thoughts stilled and his exhausted mind and body finally dropped into a deep slumber.

Only to be pulled from his erotic dreams by wet warmth, petting hands, and his body on fire. Keeping his eyes closed a low moan escaped as the wet warmth engulfed his already hard prick. Steven was soon enveloped by the ministrations of his lovers and when his conscious mind finally rose from the depths of his lust and need, Christian’s cock was slipping from his body as Jensen’s mouth released his spent cock.

The intensity of the experience was such all he could do was breathe as the others climbed out of the bedrolls and headed toward the river.

The silence continued as they prepared for the day, and they were content in the companionable quiet. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air, but the three men were at ease with themselves and each as they readied their animals before entering the main building in search of coffee and breakfast.

_~@~@~@~_

They made their farewells to the Bridgers, taking a packet of missives for delivery to Carson. Once on their way, the silence once again engulfed them, the world seeming to fall away the closer they got to the encampment.

Things got really strange as they entered the encampment. An elder stepped into their horses’ path.

“We have been waiting for you.” He said simply as he signaled the young braves to come take care of their animals.

The usual sounds of such a size village were muted as the men were led to a dwelling on the edge of the camp and told to strip.

Steven hesitated, but being between Jensen and Christian he felt safe, protected and right where he should be just as he had during their predawn lovemaking. Following Jensen’s lead, he dropped down and crawled through the entrance and into the womb of the sweat lodge.

The world stopped as they sat and Jensen and Christian each took his hand and suddenly Steven understood what the old man was chanting—was standing behind himself watching the one who watered the rocks—tended the sacred herbs—passed the pipe. His eyes widened as he looked across the lodge to see a white stallion, a lynx, and a black wolf in a mirror of their positions.

 ** _*It is about time you opened your eyes and your heart, Little Brother.*_** Steven heard the lynx speaking in his head.

 ** _*What?! I don’t understand.*_** He cried out.

 ** _*You are we and we are you.*_** The wolf answered

He saw the scars marring the snowy coat of the stallion. Mirror image of Jensen’s … White Crow. He realized by only calling White Crow by his white name, he was denying the most basic part of the man. The Tsalagi raised healer, the young man who so lived by his commitment to the spirits that he had sacrificed his tribe … His family to fulfill the vision of a respected Elder

His attention was pulled away from the beautiful stallion by a snort of impatience from the wolf. The wolf with eyes so pale blue they appeared grey. The white streaks marring the coal black coat corresponding with scars Christian, Night Wolf, himself carried from handling horses and youthful follies.

Steven looked into the blue eyes of the lynx and was lost as the spirit guide pulled him in and consumed his soul.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven woke naked cocooned between White Crow and Night Wolf in a bed of skins covered with a light blanket. Head and mouth feeling stuffed with cotton, he allowed his eyes to wander. Hide walls told him they were inside a tipi. Turning his head toward a rustling sound he saw a young man tending the fire. He must have felt Steven watching him for he turned and seeing the blue eyes watching came with a gourd of water.

Feeling Steven move, the other two opened their eyes and smiled as they helped Steven sit up and drink. They had not spoken a word aloud to one another in forty-eight hours, but they are in total understanding of what the other needs.

Knowing food will dissipate the feelings of hollowness, Steven starts to speak only to have his words silenced as White Crow places his fingers against his lips. He understands. There will be no food this day, but he is untroubled as they are dressed in breech clouts and led to where several young trees stand in a clearing.

Others join them to sit in a semi-circle in front of an old man wielding a fan of feathers to stir the noontime air. The drum beats start and Steven feels his heart adjust its rhythm. Then the songs … The chants work their magic as his mind is lost in the ebb and flow of drum and songs until there is only drums and songs and … Them.

White Crow sits astride his magnificent stallion as Night Wolfe stands tall, his black wolf leaning into his side. He feels a warm soft head beneath his fingers.

**_*Where will you stand, little brother?*_ **

Steven looked down at the beautiful animal and back at the two beautiful spirits before him. They were his if only he had the courage to take his place at White Crow’s side. It was there waiting for him … The vivid green eyes of man and horse showing their love and need to have him at their side.

Still he hesitated, his doubts keeping him rooted until he saw the shadow approaching from side where there was no protection. Steven was not where he should be. Jensen and Christian were vulnerable to the shadow … To coyote that slithered out of the shadows wearing the face of Dr. Jeffrey Morgan.

He shouted in warning as he ran toward the men who were two pieces of his soul … Running to make amends for not being in the right place at the right time … Running to save them all … Running until he felt the burning, tearing pain in his chest and looked down at the blood pouring from the two wounds in his chest pumping out his life’s blood. Then he knew no more.

_~@~@~@~_

**_*You are we and we are you.*_** Played in his mind as he gathered the herbs his father had shown him, schooling him on the plant’s healing properties as well as its pitfalls. Someone was calling, ‘ _Crow Fox stop your woolgathering and come to eat_.’ A woman’s voice. Mother.

Wait. His name was Steven. Steven Paul Carlson. Why was she calling him Crow Fox? As his body moved toward the call, he saw the Tsalagi village. A beautiful blonde woman stood waiting. A dark-haired child leaning against her leg and another on her hip. Jensen’s mother. He remembered her from Ft. Payne, but this woman was younger, her pale eyes old, but loving.

_“You will be the cause of my grey hairs with your absentminded ways, Crow Fox.” She teased.  
_

_“I am sorry, Aluli. I did not mean to cause you worry.”  
_

_“You never do.” She said under her breath as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  
_

_“Today you fourteen summers. Are you excited about your journey into manhood this night?”_

Shocked and disoriented Steven pulled away. How could he be watching a memory of Jensen’s? What was happening to him?

Steven lost track of time and self as he moved through the life of Crow Fox who never felt he knew everything he needed to know. Who feared his ignorance would bring harm to another, who fought each day to keep at least one foot in the real world as the spirit world constantly vied for his attention.

Then he was with Christian who never felt he was Cherokee enough, who was never white enough. Always the slurs, the denigration of his father’s people and their ways until he hid that part of himself away until there was only Christian Kane, son of a high bred, well-heeled old New Orleans family and a successful business man in the Indian Territories town of Tallasi.

His engagement to an Alabama debutante had him firmly settled into the white world, prepared to deny his Cherokee heritage with his dying breath until she left him a week before the wedding for a man with more money. Angry and humiliated, Christian vowed to never again deny who or what he was for anyone. He was a hidden spectator inside Christian’s mind as the dark-haired man laid aside his own doubts and fears to take the place the spirits had deemed his, feeling whole for the first time in his life.

Steven’s visitations to portions of his own life were more along the lines of Christian’s. Denying who he was … Hiding his nature from his family and the world. His saving grace was being the younger son. His grand tour of Europe after graduating college had opened his eyes to his true nature. His introduction into sex with another man could not have been more perfect. After that he realized that if he’d been born his family’s heir he seriously doubted he would have lived to his present age.

_~@~@~@~_

He was warm and some part of his brain recognized the comfortable rocking gait as that of his Tennessee Walking Horse mare, Belle. He recognized the body behind him as Christian. Wondering why they were riding double, he worked to open his eyes. He felt the muscular arms tighten around his waist as he struggled to come awake.

Night Wolf pulled Belle to a stop. White Crow slid off Strong Heart, but left Adeline sitting on the saddle. They pulled Steven off the Belle and settled him on ground between them. Once the blond was situated, he pulled the little girl off the horse and set her down with them.

After the Sun Dance ceremony, Kit’s father-in-law had taken them in and tended the wounds on their chests. White Crow had been the first to recover and had taken over the care of Night Wolf and Steven while getting to know Adeline Carson.

Three days after the ceremony, Night Wolf had awakened from his fever dreams. He’d looked wildly around the tipi looking for White Crow, pulling him down onto his bed and kissed him like White Crow was his next breath. A tiny hand patting him on the head had brought his attention to surroundings. Seeing the smiling black eyes watching the men’s antics brought a giggle from the adults and had White Crow blushing to the roots of his hair.

Steven had been worrisome. His wounds had healed cleanly. There was no reason for him to still be unconscious. White Crow felt the writer still inside his spirit walk, which was confirmed by the tribes’ healer. Needing to get back to Bent’s Fort before the weather turned they could not wait for Steven to return to consciousness.

They packed theirs and Adeline’s gear. White Crow took the pack horse and Adeline while Night Wolf rode double behind Steven switching between Belle and Bronco to keep from wearing down the horses. Six days out of camp and ten days since the ceremony and Steven was finally rejoining them in this world.

Luckily Steven had started to regain consciousness near a good campsite. It was still early in the day, but White Crow set up camp while Night Wolf watched over Steven and Adeline.

His mind and vision clearing, Steven felt the solid bulk of Christian supporting him and saw Jensen working on supper and setting up their bedrolls. He rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing a knee-high girl following in Jensen’s footsteps.

Christian watched Steven tracking White Crow and Adeline was quick to reassure him he wasn’t hallucinating. After eating Steven seemed more grounded. For the first time since the Sun Dance, the three men slept soundly with dreams that were healing. Adeline curled against Jensen’s back.

_~@~@~@~_

They reached Bent’s Fort the last week in September. Steven spoke little, but spent most of his time writing in his notebooks. Emotionally they were closer than before though Adeline’s presence caused them to censor their behavior. The little girl loved her adopted uncles, and was not shy about expressing herself with the men.

When they rode through the gates of the fort, Kit was standing in front of the general store, the guards on the walls having sent word to him of three men and a little girl were headed their way.

As they entered the gates, Night Wolf saw Kit, but he also saw Dr. Morgan watching from the porch of the surgery. He felt his ire rise as the man’s gaze locked on White Crow. He knew there would soon come a day when they would have to deal with the doctor’s obsession.

They needed time to themselves … Time to adjust to the changes in them and their relationship since the Sun Dance. Though Steven was with them physically, he and White Crow had little clue as what was going through the reporter’s mind. He clung to them in his sleep, but in the light of day he was absorbed in his writing. A stone seemed to land in Night Wolf’s gut when he thought about what would happen when they got back to the ‘civilization’ of the fort, but first they had to deal with the reunion between father and daughter. Though White Crow had been showing the toddler the picture he’d drawn of her father, Adeline had not seen her father in over a year, a lifetime to a three-year-old.

After peeking shyly from behind her Uncle Crow, she allowed her Uncles Wolf and Steven to coax her to her father. Kit sat on the step and let Adeline come to him in her own time. The grateful look in his eyes when she finally climbed into his lap expressed what words could not.

_~@~@~@~_

Jeffrey Dean Morgan watched the three men delivering the little girl to her father. There was something different about the men. There was a new closeness, but Carlson seemed to be holding himself aloof from the other two. He would have to watch carefully and be ready to take advantage of any cracks in the men’s relationship. He always thought Carlson the weak link between the three … Perhaps it was time to test that theory.

_~@~@~@~_

The three men returned to their previous campsite along the river, relishing the fact that they would be alone for the first time in a month. Camp was re-established efficiently, the horses tended, and their shelter set up in deference to the chilly autumn nights.

The sounds of the river and Colorado night were the only sounds until the men retired to their bed. Sweat dampened bodies lay in tangle of furs and blankets. Moving only enough to settle in for sleep, Steven finally started to talk.

_~@~@~@~_

Cocooned between Jensen and Christian, Steven was finally ready to talk about the dreams he had while he’d been unconscious. They had told him how he was like a puppet. They could coax him to eat, drink and take care of his bodily functions, but he seemed unaware of the outside world.

He told them about living their lives as an observer, about his spirit guide showing him Dr. Morgan as the trickster. What he did not tell them was that he had to leave, and that while he was gone there was a good possibility that Morgan would try to hurt them. He did not have enough belief in what he had seen … In what he considered fever dreams to give Jensen and Christian the warning.

He could hear a snarl in his mind, the lynx loudly disagreeing with his decision. Steven pushed him away not ready to let go and immerse himself into Jensen and Christian’s world. They had speculated the reason Steven had been unconscious so long was because he was fighting his destiny.

As he drifted to sleep he wondered how they would react when they discovered he was going the next day to make arrangements to return east before winter snow made travel impossible. If things went according to plan, he would travel back west with Colonel Fremont and rejoin them for the expedition.

The agitated spirit guide continued to complain snarling at the decisions Steven was making without talking with his mates. Steven used the snarls to lull himself to sleep.

The next morning, White crow rode into the village while Night Wolf and Steven rode back to the fort. Night Wolf sought out Carson to get back on the hunters’ schedule while Steven headed to the fort’s quartermaster’s office. Before he could question the blond, Carson came out of his quarters, Adeline toddling to Night Wolf to be picked up.

While Steven was talking to the quartermaster about when the next supply wagon would arrive, Kit was talking to Night Wolf about taking the position of his second among the hunters. He readily agreed knowing it would free Kit up to spend more time with his daughter even though he’d hired one of the Cheyenne woman from the village, Making Our Road, to help take care of Adeline and keep house for him.

Since he would be leaving with the hunters at first light, he went in search of Steven so they could ride back to their camp together. He didn’t think anything of seeing Steven talking to the quartermaster. The reporter was probably catching up on the news around the fort during the two months they’d been gone. What did surprise him was seeing the men shake hands as though they’d come to an agreement.

Christian waited until the quartermaster went inside before approaching Steven.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Steven answered too quickly to be the truth. “Just catching up.” A flush crept up his neck.

“Wanna head back to camp?” Night Wolf asked letting the lie lay between them.

“Certainly. I’ve done all I need to here.” Steven started to relax and he watched Christian running his hands through his pockets.

“Sarge didn’t happen to say when the next mail coach was leaving?” Night Wolf asked as he finally found his letter he wanted to send to his folks.

“Tomorrow. I have a packet ready for back east and asked the same thing.” Steven turned as though something caught his eye to keep Christian from reading him.

“Great. Let me drop this off and we can head back to camp.” Kane gave him that mischievous little boy grin.

Steven’s heart clenched at the thought that his actions in the next few days was going to drain the sparkle out of those blue/grey eyes. The scars on his chest ached for what he was about to do, and despite what his spirit guide thought it did have to be done. The ceremony had changed him on the most fundamental level … He had to wrap up the ends of his old life before beginning his new. He prayed when he returned that he would be forgiven.

_~@~@~@~_

Once again White Crow was moving their camp. Learning from the villagers that winter could come at any time in Colorado, so one must always be prepared. The outcropping of rock where they had stored their supplies while they were gone was large enough for the horses to get out of the weather, had a small spring close by, and most importantly, the village women had presented him with a tipi for his service to the village. They had shown him how to dismantle and reassemble the large buffalo hide tent, and how to make it as cozy in the winter as any wooden house.

Feeling incredibly blessed, he went to the meadow where he’d been cutting grass to dry for the horses should the snow get too deep for them to forage. Looking at his stockpile of firewood … He knew that was going to be a never ending chore.

In the afternoon, he joined the women in foraging for roots, nuts and berries that could be stored to supplement the meager variety of food during the winter months.

Steven and Night Wolf had returned from the fort when he returned with his bounty. Night Wolf exclaimed over their new accommodations while Steven said little and would quickly look away when he or Night Wolf caught him staring.

Worried Steven didn’t like their rough accommodations, he picked at his dinner deciding that if he and Night Wolf wanted to move into the fort for the winter, he would put aside his distrust of anything to do with the Army and stay at the fort.

“White Crow?” Night Wolf didn’t like how he’d had gone from proud and happy to anxious.

Head lowered worried green eyes looked up from under the screen of long lashes.

“You don’t want to stay?”

“What!?” Night Wolf scowled.

Steven’s breath caught. He should know he couldn’t hide from Jensen. The man ‘saw’ too much.

“It’s the perfect winter camp. Why wouldn’t we want to stay?” Night Wolf assured the younger man.

Steven’s silence was telling.

“Steven?” Christian turned to the writer.

“It is a perfect camp.” Steven assured them.

“You will not be here for the winter.” White Crow’s flat statement startled both men.

“What!” Night Wolf hissed.

Steven paled.

“You’re leaving on the mail coach tomorrow.” Night Wolf’s voice was incredulous.

“Yes.”

Before any more could be said, Night Wolf was headed out of their camp, anger marking every stride leaving Steven to face Jensen.

“When were you going to tell us?” Jensen asked quietly.

Steven finally looked at the younger man. His heart broke. The emotionless mask Jensen had donned when he admitted in front of his family and tribe to being two-spirit was firmly in place.

“In the morning.” Steven choked out around the lump in his throat. “I need you to take care of Belle for me.”

“Is she, as the whites say, a consolation prize?” A hard edge crept into the harsh voice.

Steven’s head jerked up to look into the handsome face that seemed so ethereal as the firelight highlighted the scarred cheekbone.

“NO!” He practically shouted. “No. I’m leaving her because I want to travel as fast as possible, and she wouldn’t stand up to that kind of punishment.”

Trying to put into practice the things his Elders had taught him over the years, he fought to be White Crow, healer and spiritual advisor, and not the hurt and angry lover of Steven Carlson.

“Will you return to us?” He asked calmly.

He knew that voice. He heard Jensen use that voice every day to calm the ill and the dying on **_The Trail Where We Cried_**. Unable to bear being at the receiving end of ‘that’ voice, Steven went to his knees beside Jensen and took his hands.

“If my spirit guide had his way, I would not leave.” Steven squeezed the fine boned hands so Jensen would look at him. “I … I have to do this. I have to close the book on my life in the east … See my family and tell them who I am now.” Steven felt the tears welling as he tried to explain the unexplainable. “I know you’re angry. I know I’m hurting you, but this is not something I can tell my family in a letter.”

Steven felt Christian’s presence behind him, but kept his focus on Jensen. In this matter Christian would follow where White Crow led. The hair stood straight on the back of his neck when luminous green eyes locked onto his. They were no longer alone.

“We hear and accept your need to do this thing, but know that if you do not return with the one Carson calls Fremont, we will wait no more.” Jensen’s form slumped as the spirit guides left them.

Christian secured the camp as Steven helped Jensen into the tipi. They stripped and climbed onto the palette of furs and blankets lain over a bed of aromatic herbs and pine. At first the men clung to one another their emotions roiling like a river in spring.

After a time, their emotions demanded an outlet. Teeth marked and nails scratched as haste cause a burning stretch and anger demanded rough handling that would prompt memory.

Jensen Ackles and Christian Kane had lain down with Steven Carlson in the dark, but White Crow and Night Wolf left their bed at dawn leaving Steven Carlson marked, exhausted and alone with the hope he would return to them.

Waking alone at the breaking of the day, Steven rose from their bed mindful of the night’s activities. He washed away the smell of his partners hurt, but his abused flesh would remind him for several days of their displeasure with his decision. He packed his saddlebags and a rucksack White Crow had fashioned out of elk hide. Eating the breakfast he’d been left, he stepped outside to see Belle saddled and waiting, but no sign of White Crow or Night Wolf.

Riding toward the fort, he stopped several times still battling with himself over leaving until he finally reached the fort. Tying Belle in front of Carson’s quarters, he asked the hunter to keep an eye on the mare until Christian come for her. He hugged Adeline close before escaping to the confines of the stage coach.  Three sets of eyes watched the coach until all that was left was dust.

_~@~@~@~_

Dr. Jeffrey Morgan smiled. All that now stood between him and White Crow was Christian Kane. He’d kept his basest needs in check, but after almost two years in the wilderness with nothing but a few whores brought in by the saloon owner, there was no one to slack his thirst.

He’d seen the beautiful scars on the beautiful white Tsalagi and yearned to add his own … To show Kane he was the alpha … That the quiet healer could be molded to HIS hand.

_~@~@~@~_

After the departure of Steven, Kit Carson noticed a change in the fort’s doctor. Where once the man was merely intense, now there was a feverish light that burned behind his eyes … One that spoke of madness. The hunter warned Making Our Road to keep herself and Adeline away from the man, and if they needed doctoring to find White Crow. Carson smiled softly at his housekeeper. He intended to marry the woman at the turn of the year.

With winter fast approaching, the hunters spent more and more time bringing in meat to keep the fort in food for the winter. Night Wolf and Carson hated leaving their families for such long periods of time, but their survival depended on them being away from the fort. All the signs pointed to the winter being long and harsh. Not knowing when the fort would be cut off from supply wagons by the snows, they pushed for every deer, elk, buffalo, and antelope they could get to the fort. Many times, White Crow and the women from the village traveled with the hunters, smoking the meat and working the hides while the men hunted. Making Our Road and Adeline would travel with them during those times, relishing the attention of her daddy and her favorite uncles.

Corporal Riley, Private Dolan and Sergeant Mason would seek out Night Wolf after he returned from a hunt and regale him with the gossip around the fort along with tales of how Dr. Morgan would prowl the walls of the fort watching for the hunters’ wagons to return to the fort.

Night Wolf was tempted on more than one occasion to steal into the surgery and slit the good doctor’s throat in the middle of the night, but knew the Army would come looking for him since all the gossip pointed at Morgan’s obsession with White Crow. The scars on his chest would burn with the need to keep the younger man safe, especially now that Steven was gone.

_~@~@~@~_

Morgan was quietly ecstatic. The root cellar under his surgery had everything he needed for his soon to be guests, all he had to do was put his plans in motion … Even the weather was cooperating.

He’d seen Kane and White Crow go into that hunter, Carson’s quarters. Gossip had it the man had invited them for Thanksgiving dinner. A heavy snowfall that continued through the night had stranded the men in the fort until they could get the gates cleared.

Heading out to Carson’s stables to ready the horses, Morgan struck Kane in the temple as he stepped through the door, dropping the younger man like a stone. Hoisting him over his shoulder, he carried him four houses over and down the stairs.

A chain running through a set of manacles then thrown over a support beam had Kane hanging limply until the pain in his arms and shoulders forced him into consciousness.

“What the …?!” He looked around the cellar until his eyes landed on Jeffrey Dean Morgan. “What the hell’s going on here, Morgan?” Kane demanded.

“Taking what’s due me.” Morgan sneered. “You’re not strong enough. You weren’t strong enough to hold the writer so I know you’re not strong enough to hold a beauty like White Crow so I’m taking him off your hands.”

Night Wolf felt fear race down his spine when he saw the glassy look in the doctor’s eyes.

“He’ll break so beautifully under my tutelage. All those who thought to hold me down will see my skill and envy me my beautiful white Cherokee.” His voice held a sing song cadence.

Dark glittering eyes turned back on Night Wolf. Fingers ran over his back and sides raising gooseflesh on his skin and bile in his throat.

“You too are a beautiful blank canvas, but the lash has already tasted the beauty of White Crow. I think I shall enjoy you both until time for me to return to those who think they are my betters.”

“Dammit Morgan! What do you intend?” Night Wolf demanded.

He heard the sound, and before he realized what it was fire ran across his back.

“You will hold your tongue, or you will pay with flesh and pain.” Morgan growled as he lashed out until Night Wolf’s pain stole his words. “Time to collect my real prize. You’re just an added bonus.”

Those words rang through Night Wolf’s mind as he watched Morgan climb the stairs. The slam of the cellar door enveloped him in cold darkness.

White Crow studied the story told in the churned up snow. Though the wind had covered some of the tracks he could see where someone had walked to and from the stable and back toward one of the other housing units, but where the tracks ended had been obliterated by the swirling snow.

The slamming of a door stopped him in the shadows as he turned and saw a figure appear out of a cellar. When the man held up the lantern to grab the door, he saw the face of Jeffrey Morgan. He didn’t need the spirits to tell him what had happened to Night Wolf. He fervently hoped the doctor hadn’t had the time to hurt his mate too badly.

He waited until Morgan disappeared back toward Kit’s before leaving the shadows. Careful not to slam the cellar door, he felt his way down the steps and toward where he could hear breathing. Stopping long enough to fish something out of the medicine pouch that hung around his neck, White Crow spoke softly in Tsalagi not wanting to startle Night Wolf.

“White Crow.” Night Wolf hissed.

White Crow felt along the up-stretched arms searching for the lock. Before he could find it, a scraping alerted them that someone was coming. He pressed a key into Night Wolf’s hand before moving to the furthest corner from the stairs, hoping the shadows would be deep enough to hide his presence.

As the door opened he shed his heavy coat wanting the freedom to move if the opportunity arose to get Night Wolf free. When he laid his coat down he felt his mate’s clothes on the floor. The cellar door slammed in the wind as the lantern light started down the steps. Morgan stomped over to the hanging man and backhanded him across the mouth.

“Where is he?!” Morgan growled.

“What’s the matter, Doc? Can’t find one little white Indian boy in the dark?” He sneered.

Morgan hit him again. In the shadows, White Crow forced himself to be still. He would let it play out. If Morgan got angry enough he may go back out in the storm to search again.

“You will tell me.” The look on Morgan’s face was ugly as his obsession contorted the usually handsome visage.

Taking a step away, he reached out for something hanging on the wall. Taking several steps back he threw back his arm and there was a whistle and crack as the braided leather cut bare skin.

“Tell me, Kane, where he is or I will strip the flesh from your bones.” Morgan ground out from between clenched teeth as the whip sang through the air once more.

Having once felt the bite of the lash, White Crow tensed as the blood trickled from the broken skin on Night Wolf’s back. Pulling his knife from his sheath, he prepared to move. He knew Morgan would be strengthened by his insane rage so, he’d have to be fast, not let him get a hand on him.

Angry that his greatcoat impeded his swing, Morgan pulled the coat off and threw it aside. As he drew his arm back to send the lash singing when fire erupted along his ribs. He looked down to see a dark stain spreading on his white shirt. Adrenaline sent his rage towering through his head threatening to burst open his skull. Cradling his head, trying to hold back the pain, Morgan felt another line of fire along his other side.

“Son of a whore! Show yourself!” The doctor yelled.

The only sounds in the room were Morgan’s hyper-active panting and Night Wolf’s hisses as he tried to keep from moving. White Crow watched his hands as he worked to get the key in the lock. His gaze kept flickering to Morgan as the man struggled with his pain and rage. He almost gave away his position when the crazed man pulled his side arm.

“You will show yourself, or I will put a bullet in Kane’s head.” Morgan’s voice was calm as he pointed the gun at the dark head.

“You will not.” White Crow stepped out of the shadows.

Morgan’s head snapped around at the sound of the dark broken voice.

“Don’t try me, boy.” The doctor leered.

“You will not shoot because the others will hear.” The gravelly voice remained calm as he held out empty hands. “You do not want your neighbors to run into your house and put an end to all your fun.” The full lips made a little pout.

Morgan’s eyes were drawn to the full lips as the pink tongue appeared to wet the tender dry skin. The words penetrated the haze of rage. **_*Of course he didn’t want his nosy neighbors to interrupt his fun.*_ ** He moved toward the young man who glowed in the light from the lantern, his gun landing with a soft thud on his coat.

Night Wolf saw what White Crow was doing. He was frantic to get free, but now was not the time to rush. He steadied his nerves and got to working on getting the skeleton key White Crow had given him into the lock on the manacles.

White Crow stood perfectly still as Jeffrey Morgan slinked closer. He never broke eye contact wanting to keep all the attention on him. The doctor’s smooth white hand reached out to caress the scar on his cheek. He fought to be still … Be what the obsessed man wanted … Anything to keep his attention away from Night Wolf and what he was doing. He prayed to all the spirits Kit had heard the shouting and would arrive before things got really nasty. There was no way this play acting was going much further.

As Morgan’s tongue was slipping between his parted lips, White Crow’s deft fingers were slipping inside his leggings and pulled the knife out of its hidden sheath. Hearing a growl from across the room, he knew his mate was loose and pulled away from the kiss.

“You will be so beautiful kneeling at my feet.” Morgan voice was a whisper across his lips.

Right before Night Wolf launched himself against the men tumbling them on top of Morgan’s coat and gun. Hands scrabbled for purchase on the gun … Night Wolf’s hands still mostly useless from lack of circulation as Morgan sent an elbow across the already bruised cheekbone. White Crow tried to roll their bodies so he could free his knife. Shouts came from above as men poured down stairs with lanterns raised high.

White Crow was able to rise up enough to free his knife hand bringing it down just as his movement allowed Morgan to knock Night Wolf away and swing the gun between them. The gunshot was deafening in the small cellar as was the wolf howling his grief.

_~@~@~@~_

By the time he reached Independence, Missouri, Steven was sick of seeing the inside of the mail coach. He was thankful to get a hotel room and hot bath. His spirit was bruised from leaving the others behind, but he wanted to return to them with a clean slate. That was all that was keeping him moving eastward.

First thing the next morning his passage was booked on a steamer to St. Louis. He was fortunate enough to get a stateroom to himself. It gave him plenty of time to polish the articles that were to go with Jensen’s drawings. Tears pricked his eyes as his fingers ran over the page. Tired of feeling depressed he put away his writing and headed out on deck.

After dinner and a few hands of poker in the bar, he was feeling better than he had since leaving Bent’s Fort. If things continued smoothly he estimated to be at his family’s plantation in time for Thanksgiving.

He posted a letter to Christian when he got to St. Louis and another when he got off the boat at Portsmouth, Virginia. The overland coach dropped him at the beginning of the long driveway that would lead to his childhood home.

It had taken nearly two months to arrive at this spot, and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He missed Jensen and Christian like he would miss his left hand and his only companion was a snarky snippy spirit guide that insisted he was going the wrong way to go home. Steven silently agreed, but this was not something one could do in a letter. With a sigh, he shouldered his rucksack and saddlebags and started down the road full of childhood dreams and ghosts.

_~@~@~@~_

Straightening his back from raking the autumn leaves, Ben looked toward the road. The birds had gone silent, and it felt like the old farm was holding her breath. He spied a man walking up the lane dressed in the manner of men from Mister Steven’s stories that Miz Carlson would constantly read. The man stopped and removed his hat letting it fall behind him to rest on his back. Ben began to walk toward the light-haired man to ascertain his business when the light fell on the face and he recognized Mister Steven. Without thought he raced forward to embrace his childhood friend.

Steven smiled as he recognized the man coming towards him. Ben Johnson had been a life-long friend of Steven’s. Though their stations in life had been different, they had been solid friends as children, and remained so as adults. When his parents had given Ben and his family their freedom after working on the plantation for twenty years, both men had wept.

Ben’s family still worked as a paid labor for the plantation, as were most of the plantation’s workers. Steven’s father kept up with modern farming methods and every year things became more mechanized and less labor intensive. For fear of being snatched by the men who hunted runaways and couldn’t read or didn’t care what your papers said, many of the freeman remained on the plantation working for their board and a share of the profits at the end of the season.

The Carlsons had been deemed strange in their ideas, but their fortune was solid, and their voice strong in the community so any derogatory thoughts about their management practices were prudently said where there were few to hear. Throwing his arms around his old friend, Steven was suddenly glad to be home.

_~@~@~@~_

Hearing the commotion in the front house, Sandra Carlson left her lists for the annual Thanksgiving party and stepped out onto the wide front porch. Standing in the midst of the dark curly heads that were her grounds and household staff stood a shining blond head.

“Steven!” She rushed toward the group.

The crowd parted giving her access to her son. Steven pulled his mother against his chest and buried his nose in the blonde hair that contained so much more grey than he remembered.

She pulled back to look at him.

“Where’s your luggage? Why are you walking? Did something happen to Belle? What are these clothes you’re wearing? Come on we need to get you in the house and get you dressed properly.” She chattered on as she put her arm through his and started towards the house, the questions never stopping.

A hot bath and a set of clothes that had been left hanging in his closet, and he soon found himself sitting at the table as his mother picked up where she’d been interrupted by Steven stripping off his travel stained buckskins, and she’d fled the room blushing profusely.

Steven kept the conversation light. He didn’t want to get into the real reason for his visit until he got both his parents somewhere private. Hopefully his siblings would be occupied elsewhere for a day or two. He groaned inwardly at the thought of having to endure his mother’s annual Thanksgiving ball, but manners and his own conscious dictated that he wait until after the festivities to say his goodbyes.

The reunion with his father was quieter, but no less intense with his questions about **_The Trail of Tears_** , and Steven’s other travels. The question that caused a pregnant silence between father and son was why he had not returned home when he’d gotten to the Indian Territories.

The next morning, his mother had positively dragged him to the landing to board the canal boat into Richmond. She hated his buckskins and broadcloth, and deemed everything in his armoire too out dated and old-fashioned so they were off to the tailor.

Steven allowed them to push, pull, dress, and undress him like one of his sister’s dolls up until she got to his jewelry and hair. Steven had secured their packages in the carriage that would take them to the canal boat when she mentioned the barber.

“No need. I had Mary take care of it.” He answered offhandedly as he tried to find room for the last box.

“Mary? My lady’s maid, Mary!?” Her voice went up a notch.

“Yes.” Steven came around and handed his mother into the seat.

Clucking to the horse, they headed for the docks. Steven was enjoying the drive, the sounds and smells of the city … Comparing the differences between Virginia and Colorado. He hoped some day to convince Jensen to return to the civilized side of the country so he and Christian could show him the good side of the white world. His lynx grumbled in the back of his mind.

The horse realizing he was headed toward home stayed steady on his course as the growl from his spirit guide turned Steven’s eyes inward. He was about to chastise the animal when he saw the stallion and wolf lying with him looking pale and wane. His anxiety rose.

**_*What happened?*_ **

**_*Nothing you can do.*_** The lynx was brutal in his bluntness.

**_*WHAT! Happened?*  
_ **

**_*Morgan.*  
_ **

**_*He’s …?*  
_ **

**_*No longer a problem.*  
_ **

**_*But …*  
_ **

**_*Enjoy your home time.*_ **

His mind fell stubbornly silent.

“Steven!” His mother shook his arm.

“What? Oh. Sorry. Woolgathering I’m afraid.” He said as he sprang from the carriage to hand his mother down and to fetch their packages.

Watching the bank of the canal slip by, Steven chewed over the information from the lynx. He couldn’t tell how badly they were hurt or even where they were. He tried to bring back the picture, but the lynx jealously guarded his fellow spirit guides. The only thing he really knew was Morgan was no longer a threat. Steven hoped he was dead. He patted his vest feeling the crinkle of his train ticket. He would be on a train for New York City soon after his parents’ party.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven had been helping his father carry some last minute additions to the bar out of the cellar. Returning to his room to dress he found his mother going through his saddlebags.

“Mother!” Steven chided.

“You mustn’t creep around so, Steven.” She pulled herself to her full height. “I thought you were helping your father.”

“We finished. Why are you pilfering my luggage?” His tone was short.

“Mother’s curiosity. You’re not wearing that jewelry tonight, are you?” She sniffed daintily.

“Yes. Along with another piece or two.” A silver flash amongst the folds of her skirt caught his eye.

“Mother …”

“Fine.” She tossed him the piece of jewelry.

Anger blazed as he stepped toward her. Catching himself he stopped.

“You need to leave … Now.” His voice was firm as he turned his back on her.

“Steven.”

“Now!”

He heard the door shut as he stared down at the pendant. The heads of three animals etched on a silver disc. It was hand wrought, hand etched, and meant everything to him. He’d found it amongst his other jewelry when he’d opened his casket on the steamer to find his favorite turquoise bracelet. He’d set on his bunk for over an hour holding it in his hands and staring. When he came back to himself, his face was wet.

Turning to glare at the door, he fastened the chain around his neck and began to dress for his mother’s dog and pony show.

_~@~@~@~_

Dinner took forever, when the men retired to the library for brandy and cigars, Steven took the opportunity to slip out the French doors and enjoy his cigar and being away from the noise inside. He missed sitting around the fire nursing his coffee Christian had ‘Irished’, each man absorbed in their own tasks, but relishing having each other close. He missed waking up cocooned in their arms in their bed. A deep loneliness settled in his chest as he looked out over the rolling Virginia river valley and wished for jagged snow covered peaks and his buffalo coat.

“What troubles you, brother?” The question should sound sincere, but the tone was sly.

“Nothing, just wishing I was home.” Steven replied.

“Why you are home.” He spread his arms wide.

“No. Not anymore. My place is in the territories, now.”

The smile on his brother’s face was the first genuine smile he’d seen on the face of his half-brother since Steven had reached the age of majority. He was always afraid Steven would usurp his place.

“Lose your heart to some pretty Indian maiden?

“After a fashion.” Steven hedged. “Anyway, I leave for New York next week to meet with my publisher. He’s excited to have me accompany Colonel Fremont on his expedition.”

“But that’s not for over a year.”

“They’re already recruiting support people, giving them time to get their affairs in order.”

“In that case, when you talk to your publisher you must make certain that a copy of your work is sent to us.” Knowing he would not be competing with Steven for his father’s attention had put him in a generous mood. “Have you told the folks your departure date?”

“No. Didn’t want to spoil Mother’s party.”

“Wise choice. Shall we return to the debutante parade?”

Steven groaned as he stood.

“You should feel lucky you are wed, Brother.”

“I do for my lovely wife is breeding and shall make you an uncle sometime during spring planting.”

“Congratulations! Mother must not know or she’d have poor Laurette embarrassed to her toes spreading the news.” Steven was genuinely happy for the couple.

“As you say after the party. Shall we?” He indicated Steven should go first.

“If I must.” He rolled his eyes and re-entered the fray.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven sipped his coffee and enjoyed his cheroot as the last of the carriage made its way out the lane. He’d managed to slip away from the party early, and sequestered himself in his rooms until everyone left. A great deal had been accomplished. His articles had been finished, Jensen’s drawings in place, ready to be published in the **_New York Evening Post_** at Bryant’s leisure.

“Good morning, Son.” His father greeted as he approached Steven’s niche.

“Father.”

“Seems like we haven’t had much time to talk since you got here.”

Steven shrugged and returned to his study of the river.

“When do you leave?”

“Wednesday or earlier depending to your reaction to a conversation we need to have.” Steven looked back at his father.

“Sounds serious.”

“Very. This could possibly be my last visit.” He looked at the shocked expression on his father’s face. “But we should have this conversation behind closed doors.”

“After supper then?”

Steven nodded.

“Better get on with the day then.” Christopher stood and looked down at his son. “I’m proud of you, Son.” He said quietly before moving back around the corner.

Supper was its usual noisy affair with mother and Laurette talking about the party. Over desert, his brother and Laurette announced her pregnancy. After toasts and congratulations, Christopher steered Sandra and Steven into his office. He sat her on the couch and handed her a snifter of brandy.

“Christopher Carlson, what has gotten into you?”

“This may be the last time we see Steven.” He announced bluntly.

“Steven?” Her voice was choked.

He sat beside his mother and took her hand.

“I’m staying in the west when I return there with Colonel Fremont.”

“What about us … Your family … A wife and children?”

Steven took a breath and plunged forward.

“I have a family.” He pulled two drawings and laid them on his mother’s lap. “This is my family.”

Sandra covered her mouth with her hands as though to hold in her words.

“Oh Steven, sweetheart, are you sure?” Sandra pleaded.

Steven looked at his mother.

“You’ve known I’ve been different my whole life.” Steven refused to let her brush him off.

“I … Yes …” Tears fell from her eyes. “I’ve always prayed that you would change.”

Steven nodded sadly.

“I’ll move into town in the morning.” He paused to give his parents a chance to say something. Silence continued to hang heavy in the room.

Steven shook his head as he left the room. He did come home to tie up loose ends. It seemed this chapter of his of his life had just ended with a whimper.

_~@~@~@~_

Kit helped Night Wolf gather their clothing before he gathered White Crow in his arms and took him back to his quarters. Night Wolf’s arms had not yet regained their usefulness, and his stinging back made it difficult to move. As soon as Kit laid him down, Making Our Road set to cleaning and stitching White Crow and Night Wolf’s wounds. The wound was not as bad as it looked. White Crow had hit his head against a support when Morgan had shoved him away after White Crow had stabbed him fatally as the pistol shot passed through his side.

While the Army was rushing around, the fort commander wondering how he was going to fill out the reports on this mess, the three men slipped out of the fort under the cover of darkness.

Halfway back, White Crow regained consciousness, and they were able to convince Kit to return home after he seen to the settling White Crow in their bed. Night Wolf had regained enough use of his arms to be able to take care of the horses after getting a fire started.

Exhausted, they spent much of the next several days resting, only leaving the tipi long enough to care for personal needs and the horses.

Carson visited several times, keeping them apprised of what the Army was doing about Morgan and the whole nasty situation. They buried the man and everything that had happened, but Kit advised them to stay away from the fort as much as possible.

After two weeks both men were still a bit sore, but healed. They returned to hunting with Carson, but the frontiersman continued to act as a buffer between Night Wolf, White Crow, and the Army.

After the turn of the year, they stood witness for Kit when he married Making Our Road. Adeline was settling in her new life, and was always happy when Uncles Wolf and Crow came to play.

The incident with Morgan was no longer mentioned as winter turned and spring approached. They missed Steven terribly. They would write letters to the reporter, but not knowing where he was he staying, they placed the letters in a small box to give him when he returned.

With spring in full bloom, many of the Natives living in the village began packing their possessions.  Kit, Night Wolf, and the other hunters returned from a hunt to find Making Our Road gone and Adeline with White Crow. Heartbroken, Kit Carson packed his household and headed toward his friends’ camp.

A travois had been fastened to the heavily pregnant Belle’s saddle and Adeline sat in front of White Crow as the three broken hearted men traveled southwest away from Bent’s Fort.

_~@~@~@~_

Standing on the platform in New York City, Steven heard someone call his name. He turned to see his old college friend, Thomas Welling waving at him, his beautiful wife, Jamie on his arm.

As he got settled in their guest room, he felt more exhausted and heart sore than when he’d gotten off the stage at the Carlson plantation. His spirit guide had not shown him Jensen or Christian since allowing him to see them injured.

His train trip from Richmond to New York had been a nightmare of breakdowns and delays giving him too much time to dwell on the break from his birth family, and the separation from his mates.

Clean and stretched out on fresh sheets, he dropped into a restless sleep. He dreamed of red dirt, red mountains and deep green fir trees. Five horses traveled across the red dirt, one pulling a travois. He would have sworn the horse pulling the travois was Belle, a fuzzy black foal trotted at her side. Before he could see the faces of the men the dream faded, but he could have sworn he heard Adeline calling his name. **_Uncle Steven! Dammit!_** He needed to get home. As he drifted back to sleep he prayed his time at the paper would be short.

His prayers went unanswered as Bryant wanted to hear every detail of his time in the west and on **_The Trail of Tears_**. Steven had been effectively kidnapped by William Cullen Bryant, moved into his house drug from pillar to post until Bryant finally introduced him to Colonel John C. Fremont. Next thing Steven knew he was on a train to Washington, DC, the unhappy guest of Colonel and Mrs. Fremont.

_~@~@~@~_

“I’m taking Adeline to my family in Missouri.” Kit stated firmly.

Dismay crossed White Crow’s face at the trapper’s statement.

“Why?”

“She needs a woman’s touch … Schoolin’, things she can’t get living out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Night Wolf’s hand settled on White Crow’s shoulder.

“We can teach her.”

“You can’t teach her white woman’s ways.” Kit snapped.

He would not be questioned about his daughter, not even by White Crow.

Cut to the core by a man he considered a brother, White Crow left the room.

“White Crow …” Kit started after him only to come face to face with Night Wolf.

“Leave him. He won’t hear you.”

“I didn’t mean …”

“What? That he’s been good enough all this time, but since ya been courtin’ the little Spanish seniorita Josefa, ya ain’t got time for a daughter almost as old as your fiancé?” Night Wolf spat.

“We leave in a week.” Carson ground out as he stalked off in the opposite direction as the medicine man.

_~@~@~@~_

Finally. Steven thought they’d never get underway. The riverboats were full of animals, wagons, supplies, and men. With so many men, Steven wondered why Fremont had Morgan out recruiting locals so he watched and listened.

At Franklin, Missouri, they off-loaded the steamers and prepared to go the rest of the way by horse and wagon. Walking into the hotel dining room, Steven’s heart stopped.

“Kit?”

The Colonel swung around when he heard Steven speak.

“You mean Kit Carson?”

“Yes. We were friends when I was at Bent’s Fort.”

The men hugged each other before Steven introduced Fremont, and Kit invited them to join him.

“Jensen and Christian?” Steven was anxious to know where they were.

“White Crow and Night Wolf, he stressed the names … Stopped in Westport. I’m afraid White Crow’s a little put out with me, at the moment.”

The waiter came over and took their order.

“Why?”

“I brought Adeline here for my kin to raise.”

Steven looked confused.

“White Crow took over when Making Our Road left with her tribe.” He tugged on his moustache. “Come to think of it, Adeline’s not too fond of me right now, either.

“I hate to interrupt your family reunion, Mr. Carson, but I have a proposition for you.” Fremont injected himself into the conversation.

“Let’s hear it.” Kit sounded exasperated.

“I want you and your friends to come with us as guides, hunters, whatever it is you do.”

Carson looked from Fremont to Carlson and back. He could see Steven practically pawing the dirt to get to his mates.

“You got yourself a deal, Colonel. I’ll be leaving at first light” His look told the Colonel he wouldn’t wait.

_~@~@~@~_

Steven rode one of the remuda horses because he would soon be back with his lovers and his horse. He was so keyed up his horse pranced until Carson shot him a dirty look. Man and beast calmed considerably after that.

Kit informed Fremont they’d be camping outside of Westport where his friends were set up and plan their route for the expedition from there. The sky had started to darken as the column of men, wagons and horses approached a lone tipi sitting near the river.

“Hello the camp!” Kit shouted.

Steven smiled as Night Wolf stood first putting himself between the strangers and White Crow. His hair was longer, his body trim and strong from hard work, but the piercing blue/grey eyes were the same, if older and sadder.

“What’d I tell you ‘bout pickin’ up strays, Carson?” He growled at the column of blue.

“Not strays. Brought their own supplies … Offered us a job.” Kit snarked.

White Crow never said a word, just glared at Kit until he saw Steven. Even he heard White Crow gasp as he stepped forward.

“Steven?”

Night Wolf’s head snapped around. “Carlson?”

“Finally made it home.” He stepped off the horse letting the reins drag.

He tried to be calm, but it had been too long and he didn’t care what Fremont and the others thought as he hurried toward Christian … Night Wolf …

Who pulled him into a hard hug … He turned to Jensen … White Crow. No words could get around the lump in his throat as he pulled White Crow close. The healer breathed his name sealing the tears in his soul. Keeping Steven between them, arms around his shoulders and waist, they walked toward their tipi.

“We’ve got the perfect horse for you, ‘Ol Son. Like us ... She comes as a set, and we even kept your saddle.” Night Wolf stated as they pulled him away from the group.

“I’m sure everything will be perfect.”

 ~ Fini ~


End file.
